RYAN MITCHELL'S POV
The drive to Hell's Watch felt like a descent.
Not just physically, though the prison sat in a shallow valley of concrete and razor wire that always made the sky look farther away, but mentally. Every mile closer to the place dragged me deeper into a world I'd spent my entire career trying to leave behind. Prisons have a smell, not just sweat and disinfectant, though those were always there. It was something heavier than that, like rust, electricity, and despair baked together under fluorescent lights.
By the time the outer perimeter fence appeared through the windshield, I could already feel it pressing down on my chest, and this was where monsters lived. And today I was here looking for one who had been left behind, and his name was Marco Bellini.
