Chapter 3
The hallway stretches long and narrow, lit by flickering bulbs that make every shadow look like it's hiding teeth. My new orange jumpsuit scratches against my skin with every step. It's too big in the shoulders, too short at the ankles, but it can't hide the way my hips move or the curve of my chest pushing against the zipper. The guards walk me forward like I'm a package being delivered. One on each side. Their boots echo loud. Mine are silent, barefoot for now, the cold concrete biting my soles.
We pass metal doors with small windows. Most are dark. A few have faint light leaking out. Soft snores come from one. A low moan from another. I don't look away. I take it all in. This place smells like bleach, rust, and something sharper—desperation mixed with sweat. It clings to the back of my throat.
The woman guard stops at the last door on the left. A sign above it reads WOMEN'S WING in chipped black letters. She unlocks it with a heavy key that clanks like chains. The door swings open to a short corridor with ten cells on one side. Nine are empty. One has a light on.
Inside that lit cell sits a woman on the edge of her bunk. She's maybe thirty, thin, with short black hair and eyes that have seen too much. She looks up when we enter. Her gaze slides over me slow, like she's measuring how long I'll last.
"New girl," the male guard says. He sounds almost cheerful. "Play nice, Lena. She's fresh."
Lena snorts. "They all start fresh." She stands up. She's taller than she looked sitting down. Her jumpsuit hangs loose on her frame. "What's your name, pretty?"
"Zara," I say. My voice comes out steady. I like the sound of it in this echoey place.
Lena nods once. "Welcome to paradise, Zara. Ten cells. Nine ghosts. Just you and me now." She walks to the bars of her cell and leans against them. "Rule one: we do the work. Laundry, kitchen, cleaning. All of it. The men fight, fuck, and trade. We keep this shithole from collapsing."
I step closer to the bars between us. "And rule two?"
She smiles. It's not friendly. "We survive. Or we don't. Your choice."
The guards unlock my cell—number ten, the farthest from the door. It's small. A narrow bunk bolted to the wall. A sink that drips. A toilet with no seat. A tiny window high up that shows nothing but black sky. They shove me inside. The door clangs shut behind me. Keys turn. Footsteps fade.
Lena watches me through the bars that separate our cells. "You look like you think you're special," she says. "That dress you came in? The way you walked? Men noticed. They're already talking."
I sit on my bunk. The mattress is thin as paper. I cross my legs anyway, like I'm on a throne instead of a slab. "Good," I tell her. "Let them talk."
She raises an eyebrow. "You don't get it yet. They outnumber us twenty to one. When they want something, they take it. No asking. No please. Just take."
I tilt my head. A slow smile curves my lips. "Then I'll make sure they ask nicely. And beg when I say no."
Lena laughs. It's short and dry. "Brave words for hour one."
"Brave is what you call it when you're still breathing," I reply. I lean back against the wall. The concrete is cold through the jumpsuit. I don't care. "Tell me about the men. The ones who stare the hardest."
She studies me for a long moment. Then she lowers her voice. "Three you need to watch. Reaper. Prince. Throne. They run everything. Reaper's the scarred one—mean as hell, built for breaking things. Prince is the pretty one with the smile that lies. Throne... Throne just is. Big. Quiet. Deadly. They don't share well. And right now, they're all looking at you like fresh meat."
My pulse jumps. Not fear. Excitement. Three kings. Three hungry stares I felt burning through my skin the second I stepped out of the van. I can still see their faces in my mind. The scar. The smirk. The unblinking eyes.
"Perfect," I whisper.
Lena frowns. "You sound happy about that."
I stand up. Walk to the bars. Look straight at her. "I am. Because I'm not here to survive, Lena. I'm here to rule."
She stares back. For the first time, something flickers in her eyes. Not hope exactly. Curiosity, maybe. Like she's seeing a spark she thought had gone out long ago.
Outside the wing, a bell rings—deep, heavy, final. Lights begin to dim. The prison settles into night.
I don't sit back down.
I stay at the bars, chin high, eyes open, smiling in the half-dark.
Because tonight is just the beginning.
And tomorrow?
Tomorrow the wolves start learning who the real hunter is.