"Hand it over," Marcus growled, his voice low but sharp, his hand outstretched across the narrow space between their cots. The dim overhead light flickered, casting shadows on the cracked concrete walls.

Across from him, Lena leaned back against the thin mattress, her dark hair tied up in a messy bun, a faint smirk playing on her lips. She was wiry but strong, her arms crossed over her chest, the sleeves of her jumpsuit rolled up to reveal lean, toned forearms. Her sharp green eyes locked onto his, unflinching. They’d been cellmates for three months now, and this wasn’t the first time he’d tried to push her.

"Or what?" she shot back, her voice steady, her fingers brushing against the small, folded piece of paper tucked into her sleeve. Marcus’s jaw tightened, his broad frame shifting as he stood. The tension in the air was thick, but Lena didn’t move. She just tilted her head, her smirk widening. "You really think you’re ready for this, big guy?"