Prison afternoons stretched like wounded animals slow, aching, unwilling to move. Time inside Coldstone didn't pass; it pressed. It sat on Lila's chest like an invisible weight, making every breath feel borrowed.
By the time she returned to her cell from laundry duty, her shoulders ached and her thoughts were tangled like barbed wire. Raven's warning echoed in her mind, repeating itself with the persistence of dripping water in a cave.
You're being watched.
Lila sat on her bunk and stared at her hands. They looked the same as they had before prison slender fingers, short nails but they didn't feel the same. They felt fragile now, like glass pretending to be bone.
Mira noticed. She always noticed.
"You saw her again," Mira said from the upper bunk, voice low.
Lila looked up. "How do you "
"Your eyes," Mira replied. "They look like someone shook your world without touching it."
Lila swallowed. "She warned me."
Mira's body stiffened, as if fear had yanked invisible strings. "About them?"
Lila nodded.
Mira climbed down slowly. "Then listen. Raven doesn't speak unless she means it. And when she does, it's because someone's already in danger."
A chill slid down Lila's spine.
Before she could ask more, the cell doors buzzed open again. Yard time.
The yard was a concrete wound under an unforgiving sky. No grass. No softness. Just cracked ground and chain-link fences topped with coiled wire that glinted like fangs. Inmates scattered across the space some lifting weights, some pacing, some watching.
Watching was the most dangerous part.
Lila stayed close to Mira, her steps cautious, her senses sharp. She felt like prey pretending to be invisible.
That's when she felt it.
That unmistakable pressure between the shoulder blades the feeling of eyes burrowing into skin.
Marrow.
The leader of the crew Raven had warned her about.
Marrow was tall, broad-shouldered, her smile permanently crooked like something broken and never fixed. She leaned against a fence, arms crossed, eyes locked onto Lila with the patience of a hunter who knew the trap was already set.
"Don't look," Mira whispered.
Too late.
Marrow pushed off the fence and started walking toward them. Each step was slow, deliberate measured like a countdown.
"New girl," Marrow said, voice syrupy and sharp all at once. "You settling in?"
Lila felt her throat tighten. She forced herself to stand straighter. "I'm just doing my time."
Marrow laughed. It sounded hollow, like metal struck from the inside. "Cute answer. Wrong place."
She stepped closer, invading space like smoke creeping under a door. "People like you," she continued, "they don't last unless they choose a side."
Mira shifted beside Lila. "She's busy."
Marrow's gaze flicked to Mira briefly, dismissively. "Not talking to you."
Lila's heart hammered so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. She remembered Raven's words. Stay in crowded places.
But crowds didn't help when fear was personal.
Marrow leaned in. "Tonight," she whispered, breath hot and foul. "We talk properly."
Then she walked away, leaving the threat hanging in the air like a noose.
Lila's knees trembled.
She didn't see Raven approach.
She felt her.
Raven stepped between Lila and the yard without a word, her presence a wall made of bone and steel. She didn't look at Marrow. She didn't need to.
The shift was immediate.
The air changed.
Marrow stopped walking.
Slowly, Raven turned her head and met Marrow's gaze across the yard.
It was not a stare.
It was a verdict.
Marrow's jaw tightened. She spat on the ground, muttered something under her breath, and veered away.
Only then did Raven turn to Lila.
"You didn't move," Raven said quietly.
Lila blinked. "I didn't know what to do."
"That's good," Raven replied. "Running makes you look weak. Fighting makes you look stupid."
Lila huffed out a shaky breath. "So what should I do?"
Raven studied her like a map searching for paths, risks, dead ends. "You learn," she said. "Fast."
They walked along the fence line, side by side. Not touching. Not close. But connected by something unspoken.
"This place," Raven continued, "has rules. They're not written down. They're written in bruises."
Lila glanced at her. "And you know them all?"
Raven's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "I survived them."
They stopped near the bleachers, shadows stretching long beneath them like spilled ink.
"You're not invisible anymore," Raven said. "That makes you dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Lila repeated. "I can barely breathe without shaking."
Raven turned fully toward her now. Her eyes softened—not enough to be called kind, but enough to be human. "Danger doesn't come from strength," she said. "It comes from what people think they can take from you."
Silence settled between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"Why me?" Lila asked finally. "Why help me?"
Raven looked away, jaw tightening. "Because once," she said slowly, "someone watched me drown and did nothing."
Lila's chest ached at the words.
Raven straightened, armor sliding back into place. "Tonight, don't leave your cell after lockdown. If anyone knocks don't answer."
Lila nodded.
Raven paused, then added, softer, "And if things go wrong…"
"Yes?"
Raven met her gaze. "Say my name."
She walked away before Lila could respond.
As the yard bell rang and inmates began drifting back inside, Lila stood frozen, Raven's words carving themselves deep into her bones.
Rules written in bruises.
Say my name.
In a place built to erase softness, Lila realized something dangerous was happening.
Someone had chosen to protect her.
And that choice would change everything.