Chapter 4 Chapter 4

“Not every cage is made of iron.”

The next morning began with a faint hum of power supply and the soft clatter of boots echoing down long corridors. Rome walked ahead of them, hands behind his back as if he owned the very air in the place. Clara and Trinity trailed behind with two other recruits; a tall, slender guy and a pale lady. They were wearing the same pale gray uniforms that somehow made them look like ghosts in the fluorescent light.

“Saint Ridge isn’t just a penitentiary,” Rome began, his tone calm and instructive. “It’s a reformative facility for individuals who’ve made... questionable life choices and walked down... terrible roads”

Trinity leaned closer to Clara and whispered, “He means psychopaths.”

Clara nudged her with an elbow, fighting back a smile.

Rome’s voice carried through the hallway. “The men here are dangerous, yes. But they are also rational. As long as you stay professional, respectful, and avoid unnecessary provocation, you’ll be fine.”

He glanced over his shoulder, eyes sharp even behind his kind smile. “Cross the line, however and this place will eat you alive.”

No one laughed.

They reached Ward Five, a section separated by thick glass doors and guarded by two armed officers. Inside, the air was cleaner, the floors gleaming. It didn’t look like a prison, more like a clinical facility trying too hard to appear civilized.

“This will be your ward,” Rome said. “Four inmates, four of you assigned here. You’ll observe, document, and maintain basic order. Keep your reports discreet. These men may not know the full scope of your purpose here.”

He led them down a short corridor to another door. “And this,” he said, swiping a card through a scanner, “is your dormitory.”

The door clicked open.

Clara’s jaw dropped.

The place looked nothing like she’d imagined. A small common area with a couch and a kitchenette, two single rooms branching off from it. It was clean, modern, even cozy. Each room had two wide beds, wooden desks, two windows on each end overlooking the main yard, and two wardrobes bigger than the one they'd left behind in their old apartment.

“Holy crap,” Trinity breathed. “We just went from roaches to royalty.”

Clara laughed, spinning once in the center of the room. “I don’t trust it. There has to be a catch.”

“There’s always a catch,” Trinity agreed

The other people quietly walked into a room at the far end.

Before leaving, Rome lingered in the doorway. “One more thing,” he said, his tone softening. “Try to talk to the men you’re assigned to. Not just to observe, but to understand. A calm inmate is a cooperative one. Know what stirs them, what steadies them. It’ll make your job easier.”

Clara nodded. “We will.”

Rome gave her a measured look, almost pitying. “Good,” he said simply, then left, his footsteps fading into the hum of the corridor.

For a long while, the silence in the dorm felt too heavy. Clara unpacked a few clothes, then sat on the bed, her eyes drifting toward the barred window. The view outside was deceptively peaceful, the yard bathed in gold light, a few figures pacing like restless shadows.

She took out her phone and called the nursing home. Her father’s voice, tired but warm, filled her ear.

“Clara, sweetheart. How’s the new job?”

She smiled faintly. “It’s… good, Dad. Better than I thought.”

“You sound happy.”

“I’m getting there,” she said softly. “Don’t worry about the bills anymore. Everything’s taken care of.”

He sighed in relief. “You’ve always been my brave girl.”

When the call ended, Clara sat quietly while staring at her reflection in the window. Brave?. If only he knew how scared she really was.

Later, She went over to Trinity’s side of the room. Trinity was lying on her bed, munching on a bag of chips she’d somehow smuggled in.

“Can you believe this?” Trinity said, waving her hand at the ceiling. “We have hot water, soft pillows, and zero debt. It’s suspiciously perfect.”

Clara sat beside her, curling her knees to her chest. “Yeah. It’s too good to be true. But maybe that’s okay for once.”

Trinity grinned. “You’re sounding dangerously optimistic, Voss.”

They stayed up a while, talking about everything and nothing, their old apartment, Jason’s stunned face when she gave the money to him, the idea of starting over.

When Clara finally went back to her bed, she felt lighter. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for the first time in a long time, she let herself hope.

Across the courtyard, the night settled heavy over Ward Five. Inside his cell, Hale Maddox sat on the edge of his bed, forearms resting on his knees.

Clara Voss.

That name had echoed all evening. The way she’d stood in the dining hall, chin up but trembling, trying to smooth over a disaster she didn’t cause, it had stuck in his head like a song he didn’t ask to hear.

He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

She didn’t belong here. Not with men like him.

And when he heard her laugh faintly from across the corridor, distant, muffled by concrete, Hale’s jaw tightened.

Whoever she was, whoever she’d been before this place…

she wouldn’t stay untouched for long.