CHAPTER 08

Elijah Vaughn

He gave my shoulder a light tap, trying to ease the tension, but his gaze remained heavy.

"Now, let’s head to the kitchen. Your work starts today."

We walked down the corridor, but he stopped abruptly, his brow furrowed.

"Almost forgot something important. Never—under any circumstance—try to start a riot. It’s happened before… and ended in a massacre."

My heart sped up.

"What?" My voice came out weaker than I expected.

He let out a sigh, eyes dark with something grim.

"It happened in the right wing. From what they say, there’s not as much corruption there as in the left wing. They tried to rise up against the guards but were slaughtered. Dozens of bodies scattered on the ground, no chance to fight back. Ever since, any sign of uprising is crushed before it begins. If you hear someone whispering about it, pretend you didn’t. The only outcome of a riot in here is death."

The crushing weight of that reality settled in my chest. The idea of escape felt more and more distant.

On the way to the kitchen, we passed the cafeteria. My stomach churned, but I avoided looking at the spot where the horror had taken place. My body still trembled at the memory of the blood, the blade piercing the skull, and the empty stare as life drained away.

I took a deep breath and kept walking, focusing on following him.

When we reached the kitchen, he led me to the storage room—a small, stuffy space packed with shelves overflowing with ingredients. Bags of flour, boxes of canned goods, piles of rice, and other supplies were scattered in chaotic disarray.

He tapped one of the shelves lightly.

"This’ll be your station, rookie. Like I said before, your job is to organize the ingredients, check quantities, and hand them to the cooks when they ask. Got it?"

I nodded slowly, nerves tightening in my chest. He noticed my hesitation and sighed.

"You’ll get the hang of it. Just follow instructions. Mess up too much, and you’ll test the patience of people who don’t have any."

I started working, fumbling at first, unsure where anything went. The storage room was a mess, and it took me a while to figure out the system they used to organize supplies.

He helped me a bit but quickly left me to figure things out on my own. Little by little, I found my rhythm. I sorted ingredients, checked counts, and handed over what was needed. Before I realized it, hours had passed.

"Dinner time." Fox’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

He handed me a tray.

"Let’s go."

I took it and followed him to a table in the back of the cafeteria. Even starving, fear still pulsed under my skin. I kept my eyes on the food, avoiding looking at anyone around me—especially the Reaper’s table. The last thing I wanted was to meet his eyes again.

Fox ate in silence for a while before lifting his gaze to me.

"When we finish, we’re heading to the yard."

I frowned, confused.

"The yard? Why?"

He sighed, tired.

"There’s a fight tonight. Entertainment for the inmates and the guards."

The food caught in my throat.

"A fight? What do you mean by that?"

He shrugged.

"Simple. They grab two poor bastards and make them fight until one drops. If they refuse, the guards beat them both. In the end, it’s kill or be beaten half to death. Welcome to hell, rookie."

My stomach turned, sickened by the brutal reality.

He chuckled, as if he’d long gotten used to it.

"I used to feel the same way. But after two years, nothing surprises me anymore."

I swallowed hard, unsure how to respond.

"And you? Why were you arrested?" The question slipped out bluntly.

My throat tightened.

"I was accused of assaulting my girlfriend… but I never did. I loved that woman. I worked, studied, did everything I could to be a good partner..."

My voice faltered.

"Then, out of nowhere, she started acting strange. The day I was arrested, she was clinging to my brother. That bastard always hated me—for no reason. I never understood it."

My eyes widened when I realized I was dumping all of this on him.

I shook my head and lowered my gaze, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to unload everything on you."

He shrugged, unconcerned.

"It’s fine. Sounds like you needed to talk."

Then he raised an eyebrow.

"He always hated you?"

I nodded.

"Since we were kids. He insulted me constantly, for no reason."

He took a sip of juice and let out a faint, dry laugh.

"Ever consider that the two of them set you up?"

My body froze.

"What?"

"You said it yourself. Your brother always hated you, and your girlfriend started acting weird out of nowhere. When you were arrested, she was all over him. Thinking that’s just coincidence is stupid. They framed you."

My chest tightened like a cold blade had pierced my heart. I had never considered that possibility… but it made sense. Everything fit.

The urge to cry hit hard, but before I gave in, Fox stood up.

"Swallow those tears. It’s time to head to the yard. I know it’s hard, but you’re in a much worse place now. If you want to survive, you’ve got to toughen up. Let’s go."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, holding back the panic clawing inside. Feeling sorry for myself wouldn’t change anything.

I shoved the rest of the food down quickly, stacked my tray in the kitchen, and followed him.

He was right.

If I wanted to survive, I had to be strong.

When we got to the yard, a crowd had already gathered in the bleachers, buzzing with excitement. My stomach twisted at the gleeful expressions on their faces.

How could anyone be so thrilled by something so brutal?

He pulled me toward the bleachers.

I sat beside him on the rough, unfinished concrete that circled the yard.

My body was stiff, and my hands were clammy.

He remained silent, eyes fixed on the yard, face unreadable. I felt completely out of place, dwarfed by the sea of criminals around us, cheering and chatting like they were about to witness a spectacular show.

Suddenly, three inmates in white uniforms were dragged out by guards and thrown into the center of the yard. They hit the concrete like sacks of meat, groaning from the impact. The crowd erupted into whistles, laughter, and gleeful shouts.

My stomach flipped.

It was inhuman. Cruel.

I looked at Fox, hoping for a reaction, but he didn’t even blink.

I swallowed hard and turned my gaze back to the condemned. Their faces showed confusion and terror, like they didn’t even know why they were there. One of them, thin with messy hair, tried to stand as a guard picked up a megaphone.

"Good evening, everyone!" the voice echoed through the yard. "Are you ready for an unforgettable fight?"

The crowd roared, mixing applause with macabre laughter. Disgust rose in my throat like bile.

"Here are three prisoners!" the guard continued. "But only one will walk out alive! The winner gets a chance to join one of the big gangs and will receive protection from the others!"

The yard shook with laughter. The air buzzed with tension, thick with sadism and bloodlust. The guard paused for effect before adding,

"The best part? None of them knows how to fight."

If the crowd was excited before, now they were ecstatic. Frenzied whistles and deafening applause filled the yard.

My eyes scanned the twisted faces, glowing with delight at the imminent violence. To them, this wasn’t a horrific crime.

It was entertainment.

Fox leaned slightly toward me, his voice low and cold.

"The best part of a rookie fight is the desperation. They beg. They cry. They try to run. And in the end… they die anyway."

A chill cut down my spine. My lungs forgot how to breathe. I glanced at Fox, but he remained indifferent, as if he were talking about the weather.

"And now..." the guard’s voice echoed again, "Let the fun begin!"

He raised his arm—and without warning, a gunshot rang out.