Brigantine
Mei woke up the same way she had every morning since being brought to Brigantine.
Not because she had accepted this place.
Not because she had become comfortable here.
But because there was little else she could do.
The room was still dim when she opened her eyes. Pale morning light slipped through the cracks around the boarded window, cutting narrow lines across the floor. The walls were old, stained in places, and the air carried the familiar smell of dust, salt, damp wood, and too many people trapped too close together.
A set of clothes had already been left on the small chair near her bed.
A blouse.
A skirt.
Clean enough, at least.
