Some men roar when threatened. Guards don't need to. It was supposed to be a quiet weekend- just him and Ella, away from the hum of the prison. The cabin smelled of stew and pine sap. Firelight flickered against the walls, casting warm shadows. Carlos stirred the pot, shoulders easing, savouring the rare stillness. Ella’s humming drifted from the next room- off-key but sweet. His bear ears twitched toward the sound, tail giving a lazy flick. Then— a sound that didn’t belong. A floorboard creaked. Not one of theirs. Carlos stilled. Ears snapped forward, tail bristling before he forced it flat. The air shifted, sharp, heavy. Another creak. Closer. Without a word, Carlos moved. Silent for a man built like a wall, one hand curling around the shotgun by the door. Gold eyes cooled, body taut, every muscle ready. When the cabin door banged open, he didn’t shout. He simply stepped forward- a living barrier of weight and quiet power- placing himself between the intruder and the small figure peeking from the hallway. The person in the doorway swayed, bleeding, pale as moonlight, prison cuffs dangling from one wrist. Carlos’ ears flicked once. Then again. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered the gun. “Ella,” he said, voice steady as bedrock. “Back to your room.” She obeyed, footsteps soft, eyes wide. He didn’t look at her again. His attention was on the figure, calm but unyielding, every movement measured, protective, unshakable.

Some people k!ll with a scream. Some a smile. Block A was too bright to be the first, glowing faintly even when the guards killed the lights. Matty leaned lazily against the bars, his one wing tucked awkwardly, curly pink hair catching faint gleams. His eyes- gold-and-black like polished gemstones- flicked toward the hall, one glowing brighter in the dim light. Easy smile, like sunshine spilling over a dangerous edge. When the guard came by, he tilted his head, grin teasing. “Hey, sweetheart. You missed me?” The guard didn’t even look at him. Matty’s smile faltered only slightly. Then he pouted, deliberately, glow intensifying just a touch. “Fine,” he said, voice light but edged with mischief. “Pretend you don’t like me. I’ll win you over by next week.” The guard’s jaw twitched, restraint obvious, but their lips stayed firm. Matty’s grin sharpened, playful but wicked. “Keep Playing hard to get,” he said, eyes sparkling. “I like a challenge.” He straightened dramatically, letting his wing unfold slightly, catching the light. Every movement theatrical, deliberate, a performance. Even the dim hallway felt warmer under his presence. Passersby glanced twice- some captivated, some wary. Matty’s charisma pulled attention, but edge lingered: charm masking teeth, warmth hiding power. He could be sunshine… or a storm. He leaned closer to the bars, voice dropping to a sultry murmur so the guard alone would hear. “You’ll see,” he whispered. “Even a heart like yours will bend for me eventually.”

Weapons kill. But so do people. Block C always sounded wet. Drip… drip… drip. No pipes ran through here, yet the air carried the sharp tang of seawater, clinging to skin and hair alike. Naomi sat cross-legged on the floor, loose bun falling undone, hair curling damp around her shoulders. She hummed, low and curling, a sound that slithered under the door and up the hallway. Guards flinched. The hum lingered, sticky and hypnotic. The door clanged. Another inmate was shoved inside. The newcomer froze mid-step, blinking as if wading through water too thick to move through. Naomi rose, fluid, wet silk over muscle. Bare feet slapped against the tile with deliberate rhythm. Her eyes were too bright, white like moonlight on a tide, and her smile sharp, predatory. She leaned closer, every step measured, liquid. “Oh,” she purred, voice soft as silk, “you don’t hear me, do you?” The newcomer didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. Naomi laughed, a sound like breaking waves over rock, delighted, teasing. “Sing for me,” she whispered, lips close enough to touch, though her voice had already seeped inside their mind- a song that lingered, impossible to forget.

Some days death is inedible. Others it's a blessing. The infirmary was too quiet. Even the hum of the overhead lights felt distant here, swallowed by the metallic tang of antiseptic & the faint coppery scent of old blood. Arthur stood over the cot, long dark hair tied back loosely, strands brushing ink-stained fingers. His palms glowed faint green, magic tracing along veins like liquid light. Healing always left him cold, but this patient… this one wasn’t supposed to survive. He bit back a groan, forcing focus. Every twitch, every shallow breath mattered. The door creaked. A guard’s shadow stretched across the tile floor, stiff & accusing. “You’re wasting your time,” the voice said flatly. Arthur didn’t flinch, didn’t look up. The glow along his fingers pulsed brighter, almost painful to see, illuminating the lines of his tired purple eyes. “Then it’s my time to waste,” he murmured, voice low & deliberate. A cough from the patient drew his attention back, a flicker of relief crossing his face. The guard shifted, unease visible even in her rigid stance. Arthur let himself smile then- tired, grim, small- but it carried the weight of quiet victory. A life saved, at least for now. & Even in silence, the infirmary seemed to exhale.

Some men wait. Some just K!ll. Block D never stayed quiet. Fists slammed against steel, voices cracked with laughter or rage, the air smelled like smoke, sweat, & blood. Isaac stood in the center of it all, bare-chested, feet planted on scorched tile. His broad shoulders flexed as he shifted, knuckles flickering with thin curls of fire licking his skin. A grin split his face- teeth sharp under the flickering light. “Who’s next?” he growled, voice low, teasing. The corridor went still. New footsteps echoed- too light to be a guard he knew, too hesitant to be someone who belonged. Isaac’s grin widened, wolf ears snapping upright. Fire crackled faintly across his arms, dancing like sparks in a forge. “Fresh meat?” he drawled, tail lashing behind him. The door opened fully, & a rookie guard stepped in, shoulders rigid, pale as chalk. Their hand hovered near the baton at their hip, but they didn’t back away. Isaac tilted his head, reading the tension like a map. The fire hissed across his skin in response, heat prickling his senses. “…You lost, little lamb?” he asked, voice low, dangerous, amused. The guard stayed still, lips pressed thin. Not fear exactly- determination, maybe curiosity. Isaac could smell the adrenaline, see the slight tremor in the fists. A thrill ran through him, hot & hungry. This was going to be fun

Some people K!ll easily. Some take years. The lights in Cell Block E buzzed too loud,too bright,a jagged hum that drilled straight through Avery’s skull. He sat curled on the thin mattress,knees hugged tight,tail wrapped around his legs like a shield. His ginger-&-black hair fell into his eyes- haunted, green-&-red,ringed with dark circles from too many sleepless nights. His fingers worried at the loose threads of his torn yarn sweater,tugging until they frayed. He hated how much he needed that motion to keep his hands from shaking. Every sound hit him like a pinprick- the clatter of chains, a shout down the hall, the metallic throb of the lights. He hated how his fox ears twitched with each one,hated how every sound cut straight to his bones,like the whole prison was conspiring to keep him raw & awake. Then the lock hissed. He flinched so hard his head hit the wall,a sharp crack that left stars in his vision. His tail puffed out,ears snapping flat against his head. The smell hit next. Iron. Sweat. Blood- fresh enough to sting his nose. His throat ached,hunger rising sharp & cruel in his chest,curling low in his stomach like fire. Then the door clanged open & the guards shoved someone inside. Big.Loud.Breathing hard. Everything Avery wasn’t. The boots hit the floor like gunshots. The cell seemed to shrink with every step the newcomer took,every thud of leather & metal closing the air tighter around him. Avery’s back pressed against the wall until there was nowhere left to go.His claws pricked his palms.His heart beat so fast it hurt,throat bobbing against a voice that wouldn’t come. The stutter broke out before words could form, fangs just threatening to show. “S-stay b-back!” His voice cracked, sweater threads snapping in his grip. The stranger turned their head,sizing him up with a look that felt like teeth sinking in.their shadow fell over him,like a tide. & then they grinned. Slow,wide,like someone who’d just been given a brand-new toy

Some fight dirty. Some don’t fight at all- & somehow, that’s worse. Cell Block F was too quiet. Heather heard the buzz of every light, the hum of power in the walls, the thrum of generators deep below. Every sound felt amplified, hanging like a held breath. Her boots struck in a steady rhythm, like a clock counting down, a warning only she heard. Her black-&-purple ponytail swayed like a pendulum, each movement measured. Her sharp elf ears angled forward, capturing the scrape of chains, the faint raps of breath, the distant clank of a door far away. Nothing escaped her notice- not here, not tonight. But she wasn’t the only one walking this corridor. At the block’s end, a figure leaned on the wall, hands in pockets, posture too loose for this place. The air warped around them, as if the shadows were shielding them, bending & shifting with subtle intent. Heather’s pace slowed. Then Stopped. Her ponytail stilled like a drawn blade. Her fingers twitched near her gun- just grounding, muscle memory- but her stance shifted. Not fear. Readiness. The figure smiled, a quiet curve that didn’t reach their eyes, shadows rippling like breath. “Warden.” Heather’s voice was even, polite- but every syllable carried an edge, steel honed too sharp to be ignored. “Good evening,Heather.” Their tone was calm as moonlight, soft enough to make the air feel colder. “You don’t usually walk this block.” The Warden tilted their head, a lazy, unhurried motion- but the walls seemed to tilt, listening. “I was visiting my brother,” they said softly. Too softly. Soft enough to raise the hair on Heather’s arms. Her Truthsense flared, a spark racing like static beneath her skin. Brother. Her jaw clenched before she locked it down. There was only one man in Cell Block F, & everyone knew it. The Shadows at her feet quivered, as though answering an unasked question. “Everything’s under control,” the Warden added, still smiling. That only made the silence heavier.

Some men k!ll with a scream. Some silence. The lights in Cell Block F buzzed like dying insects. Each step down the corridor made it worse- the whole block seemed alive,sick,trembling under their feet. No one spoke. Words didn’t feel safe here. Not this far in. Not when he was waiting. The last cell sat in darkness,its corners layered with shadow thick as black silk.The overhead lights tried to reach the far wall,but at the final prison-bar,it thinned & died,leaving the room choked with something deeper than shadow. Someone stood in that darkness. Logan. At least,that was the name on the file. No one ever said it out loud twice & lived. Ghost,they whispered instead- a silent man who moved without hurry,spoke without wasting a word, whose quiet carried weight heavier than any shout. He didn’t move.Didn’t need to. Broad-shouldered,calm,silent,one boot braced against the wall as if he’d been there for hours- maybe days. His untidy black bang fell just enough to hide one eye. The other was ice-pale,cold,unblinking- a stare sharp enough to pin a man without touching him. That almost felt worse seen in white curls. Everyone feared him.Guards,prisoners,anyone forced to walk this corridor- all felt the invisible weight pressing down the moment they stepped near.People said the shadows thickened around him,stirring if you watched too long,as if waiting. Then the locks hissed. The reinforced door screamed open. Logan didn’t turn his head. didn't flinch. didn’t move at all. Light slashed into the cell,but it didn’t touch him. It stopped at his feet,devoured by the darkness coiling there like smoke. Guards stepped inside,dragging someone small between them- wrists cuffed,shirt torn & stained. They didn’t dare meet Logan’s gaze. They shoved the prisoner forward & retreated,boots sharp,slicing the air against the tile. The door slammed shut behind them,heavy,final,leaving the cell swallowed in frozen silence.& in that silence,something began to breathe