Aljun's POV
Aljun kept his head down as he worked, pulling weeds from the pots and trimming the yellowing leaves with careful hands.
The people he followed led him here on the top of a building instead of ground. The rooftops had been turned into gardens with rows of soil laid out across the concrete.
There were only 5 of them working this section and he is sticking out like a sore thumb. The men are in working uniforms, clearly separating him from them, but even if he wants to get out he can't.
The doors are locked.
He stayed quiet and followed what the others were doing, matching their pace and their movements so he would not stand out.
He got in too easy.
Now he had to keep it that way. Stay here. Follow them later. Blend in when they moved to the dining hall.
Then the thought hit him.
What if someone here knew he doesn't belong here?
Fuck.
His grip tightened around the stem he was holding.
He would be dead.
"Good day, sir."
