Chapter 16
BLADE
They never say what the activity is until you’re already standing in line, shuffling past guards with their hands on their batons. Rec hall today, some “rehabilitation initiative.” All it means is they picked a handful of us at random so the warden can tick another box and pat himself on the back.
I get called. Lucky me. I hide my annoyance, but inside I’m grinding my teeth.
I hate these things—makes me feel like an animal on display.
Plus, I’ve got other shit on my mind. Jace got hauled off to solitary after the library mess.
No one tells me how he’s holding up. You never know in here—guys disappear all the time, sometimes they come back, sometimes not.
I get herded into the rec hall with a dozen others.
The room smells like old sneakers and something fried.
There’s a cheap PA in the corner, playing music no one listens to.
I find a spot at the edge, arms crossed, jaw set.
I’m not in the mood for small talk, or crafts, or whatever team-building crap they’ve got planned.
Warden stands by the door, arms crossed, like a king on his throne. Smug bastard. He locks eyes with me, that shit-eating grin never fading. “Maren, didn’t expect to see you out here. You lose a bet?”
I bite down the answer I want to give. “Just lucky, I guess.” My voice is flat, deadpan. He snorts and walks away, already bored. I hate that guy.
Some of the D-block regulars start in as soon as I sit. “Blade! Hey, you hear about Calhoun? Bet he’s crying in the box.” The guy talking has a nose swollen twice its size, mouth split and purple.
I stare him down. “Somebody teach you some manners?” I say, eyes narrowing.
He snickers but looks away. Good. Because I have a feeling I know exactly who gave him that face, and I’m willing to bet it’s connected to Carrie. Every nerve in me is wound tight.
A handful of people drift through the gym who don’t belong—volunteers, probably, or social workers brought in to make this look like rehab instead of lockdown.
I spot an older woman with tight gray curls and big glasses.
She’s always at the library desk, stamping returns and peering over her bifocals.
If she’s here, then Carrie won’t be far.
I shift in my seat, pretending to care about the cards I’m shuffling. That’s when I see her.
She’s moving through the tables, arms full of clipboards and handouts, hair twisted up in a messy knot, a few strands slipping free to brush her cheeks.
She’s wearing that navy cardigan that hugs her curves in all the right places, a pencil skirt that makes her legs look long and soft, sensible flats that still make her walk with that unconscious sway. Her face is flushed from the heat.
She’s focused, mouth pressed in that line she gets when she’s nervous or trying to look busy.
My heart does something stupid, skips a beat, tightens in my chest like a fist. Doesn’t matter how pissed off I am, how much I try to keep my distance.
She doesn’t see me at first. She’s all business, passing out supplies to a table of older guys who mostly just want to flirt and get her attention. She’s polite, but you can tell she’s always measuring her distance, always careful.
For a second, I just sit there, watching her. Every thought of fights, of the warden, of this stupid forced activity, fades to static. All I want is to pull her out of this room, wrap her up, and tell her everything’s going to be alright.
The activity is a joke—it’s supposed to be some kind of “community circle,” but it’s just forced small talk, coloring sheets, and pointless icebreakers run by the volunteers.
A young guy with a clipboard tries to lead a discussion about “goals for the future,” but half the room is zoning out and the other half is just trying to figure out how to sneak extra cookies from the snack table.
I sit through it, arms crossed, tuning out as a woman in a bright yellow sweater drones on about “re-entering society” and “the importance of positive habits.” One of the older guys at my table draws cartoon dicks on his worksheet and tries to hide it from the staff.
The clock barely moves. I wonder if this is some kind of punishment.
I keep glancing around, but I can’t catch another glimpse of Carrie.
Just social workers, a couple of old nuns, and the volunteers trying to smile their way through hell.
Every time the door opens, my eyes go up, but it’s never her.
By the time they finally call time, half the guys have already drifted toward the exit. I’m one of the last out.
That’s when I see her. She’s not at the front or helping clean up. She’s slumped over her desk near the entrance, arms folded, cheek pressed to her sleeve. Her hair’s a mess, her glasses half-off her nose. For a split second, she looks so small it guts me.
No guards around. No one’s paying attention. I check over my shoulder, then cross the empty hall and kneel next to her.
“Carrie.” My voice is quiet, urgent. “Hey, wake up.”
She doesn’t move at first, so I touch her shoulder, gentle, careful not to startle her. “Carrie, come on. You can’t fall asleep here.”
She blinks awake, confusion flickering in her eyes, then exhaustion. She looks at me, and all that anger I was holding—about Jace, about not knowing what happened, about being dragged out for this bullshit—melts away. All I feel is concern. She looks like she’s been run over.
“Hey,” I say, voice low. “You okay? What happened?”
She rubs her face, trying to focus. “Sorry, I…I just needed a minute. I didn’t sleep much last night.”
I look around, making sure we’re still alone. “You don’t look so good. Want me to get you some water? You need anything?”
For the first time all day, I’m not pissed off. I just want to take care of her, keep her safe—no matter what else is going on.
I keep my voice low, not wanting to scare her. “Carrie, what happened to Jace? I haven’t seen him since yesterday. Did he get in a fight?”
She blinks hard, wiping at her eyes. “I’m sorry, Nico. I didn’t want him to get in trouble. He was just trying to help me. Someone—one of the inmates—crossed a line, and Jace…he stepped in. He didn’t even think about himself.”
My hands curl into fists at my sides, fighting the urge to punch the wall. “He’s in solitary now? For that?”
She nods, her breath catching. “He protected me. And now he’s paying for it.”
I watch her, the anger fading, replaced with something heavy. She’s holding it together by a thread, and I can see the cracks forming.
“Hey,” I say, touching her shoulder again. “Don’t blame yourself. None of this is your fault. Jace knew what he was doing.”
She bites her lip, but tears slip down her cheek. “It is my fault. I wish I could take it back. If anything happens to him—”
Her face changes suddenly. Panic flashes across her features. She clutches her stomach, breathing shallow and quick, eyes darting toward the corridor.
“You okay?” I ask, stepping closer. “You look—”
She shakes her head, pressing a hand to her mouth. “I—I need a minute. Sorry.” She rushes away from me, nearly stumbling as she heads to the restroom just down the hall.
I watch the door swing behind her, my heart racing. Something’s not right, and I have a feeling it’s more than just what happened to Jace. I hover by the door, listening, ready to go in if she needs me.
A minute later she comes out, looking even paler. Her skin’s clammy, eyes red and haunted. She’s barely keeping it together.
“Carrie—what’s going on?” I start to ask, but before she can answer, a guard’s voice cuts through the corridor.
“Maren! Rec’s over. Let’s go.”
I bristle, wanting to argue, but Carrie just shakes her head, silent plea in her eyes. I hold back, swallowing the urge to push past the guard.
“Take care of yourself, Carrie,” I say softly.
The guard hustles me out before I can do anything else. As I walk away, every instinct screams at me that something’s wrong—and I’m not leaving it alone.
Back in the cell, the walls feel even closer than usual. Levi is stretched out on his bunk, reading a battered paperback. He glances up as I step in, studying my face like he already knows something’s wrong.
I don’t waste time. “Something’s up with Carrie,” I say, voice low.
Levi closes his book, sits up, watching me. “What happened?”
I scrub a hand over my face, restless. “Saw her after that stupid rec event. She looked like hell, man. Said she barely slept last night. I asked about Jace—she started crying, then damn near ran to the bathroom. When she came out, she looked even worse. Guards pulled me out before I could get anything else out of her.”
Levi’s jaw tightens. “She say anything about what happened with Jace?”
I shake my head. “Not really. Only that he was trying to protect her and now he’s in solitary. But it’s more than that. She’s scared, Levi. I know that look.”
He’s silent for a second, eyes darting to the door like someone might be listening. He sets his book down, then leans forward, elbows on his knees.
“You really that worried?” Levi asks, keeping his voice low.
I nod. “Yeah, I am. She looked like she was about to fall apart, and she wouldn’t tell me why. Something’s not right. I can feel it.”
Levi sighs. “She’s tough. You know she doesn’t want anyone fighting her battles.”
“That’s not the point,” I say, frustration rising. “If Jace is in solitary because of her, if something happened with one of the other guys, she could be next. Nobody’s looking out for her but us.”
He doesn’t answer right away, and that silence makes my skin itch. I study him, noticing the tension in his jaw, the way he can’t quite meet my eyes.
He rubs his hands together, looking at the floor. “Just don’t go stirring shit up if you don’t have to, alright? Maybe she needs space.”
I stare at him. “Since when do you care about giving anyone space?”