The corridor walls seemed to close in, narrowing with every step, the air growing cooler and heavier, laced with the faint metallic tang of rust and old disinfectant. The further they went, the quieter it became. No distant shouts. No echoing footsteps of other prisoners. Only the deliberate rhythm of the guard's boots and the ragged drag of her own breathing.
They were not heading toward the medical wing.
They were moving in the opposite direction—deeper into a part of the prison she had never seen before. Quieter. Darker. More isolated. A place that existed for one purpose only: to remind prisoners, permanently, that they were no longer people.
"Please…" she whispered, voice barely audible above the echo of their steps. "Please tell me where we're going…"
No answer. Only the relentless forward pull and the slow, sinking realization that whatever waited ahead would be worse than anything she had already endured.
