"Hands against the wall," the guard barked, his voice echoing off the cold concrete. Sarah complied, her palms flat against the rough surface, her breath shallow. The metal door clanged shut behind her, and she turned to see her new cellmate—a tall, broad-shouldered man with a shaved head and a tattoo snaking up his neck. He raised an eyebrow, silent.

Sarah had been here three days, but this was her first time sharing a cell. The man, whose name she didn’t know yet, leaned back on the bottom bunk, his arms crossed. His eyes scanned her—her messy dark hair, the faint bruise on her cheek, the way her orange jumpsuit hung slightly loose on her frame. She shifted uncomfortably, her sneakers squeaking on the floor.

"You got a name?" he finally asked, his voice low and gravelly. Sarah hesitated, glancing at the barred window where the faint glow of the yard lights seeped in. "Sarah," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. He nodded, his expression unreadable. "Well, Sarah," he said, standing slowly, "you might wanna get comfortable. It’s gonna be a long night." She froze, her heart pounding, as he took a step closer.