Present Day — Blackridge Prison, Cellblock D
Lexa didn't sleep that night.
Even with the cell door sealed and the lights dimmed, her body remained tight with unease. The silence wasn't comforting—it was the kind that tightened around your throat and waited. Damon's face lingered in her mind like a bruise.
The way he looked at her. Like he knew more. Like he wasn't there just for answers, but to bury truths that could damn them both.
She hadn't thought of Greystone in months. Not since the trial. The name still felt like rot—buried deep, but never gone.
She paced the floor until dawn.
By the time the cells were unlocked, Lexa had made a decision: she couldn't afford to spiral. Whatever Damon was doing here, she had to keep control. The prison was dangerous enough.
She needed to stay sharp. And to survive Blackridge, she couldn't do it alone... not anymore.
---
Mess Hall
The cafeteria buzzed with its usual low-grade chaos. Plastic trays scraped against metal counters. Guards lingered with dead eyes and twitching batons. Lexa sat alone at the edge of the room, scanning faces. Mara and her pack had taken a new table near the front. Nova was seated farther away, head down, surrounded by her girls.
Lexa picked at the dry cornbread on her tray, appetite long gone.
She remembered Greystone's name on one of the sealed files—classified beyond her clearance, even as a federal analyst. Why had it surfaced again now? Why had Damon looked like he knew?
She felt them before she saw them—Mara and two others approaching, slow and deliberate.
Lexa set down her fork.
Mara smirked, stopping just short of her table. "Heard you had a visitor yesterday," she said. "Federal badge and all."
Lexa didn't respond.
"You a snitch, Quinn?" one of the girls asked, voice light but edged with menace.
Lexa stood slowly. Her chair screeched behind her. "Walk away."
Mara tilted her head. "Or what? You gonna call your boyfriend to protect you? Bet he liked you better in chains." Her eyes glinted cruelly. "Must be nice, having a Fed for a fan."
The three moved closer. Too close.
Across the room, Nova rose.
Then two of her crew.
Tension cracked through the mess hall. Guards turned, watching.
Nova walked forward and stood beside Lexa. She didn't speak, didn't threaten. Just stood there like a silent warning.
Mara snorted. "You got friends now?"
Lexa stared her down. "No. Just people who know what a fair fight looks like."
A long pause.
Then Mara laughed and stepped back. "This place changes people, Quinn. You might want to think about which side you're really on."
She turned and walked off, her crew in tow.
Nova didn't look at Lexa. She just returned to her seat.
Lexa sat too, heart pounding. That line had shifted. Whether she wanted it or not, she had backup now.
---
Later That Day — Cellblock D Common Room
Lexa sat across from Nova, an open chessboard between them. Pieces moved slowly. Thoughtfully. The game wasn't about winning. It was about reading each other.
Nova's eyes flicked to Lexa's hands, then back to the board. A subtle pause before her move. Lexa caught the hesitation — the calculating weight behind it.
"You're not dumb," Nova said, eyes locked on Lexa's. "Just green. Blackridge doesn't wait."
Lexa moved a knight. "Then why help me?"
Nova met her gaze. "Because you're not afraid to bleed. That matters."
They played in silence a moment longer.
Lexa hesitated. The name had been bouncing in her head since yesterday—tied to files she was never meant to see and whispers no one would explain. But in this place, every question came with a price.
"You ever heard of someone named Greystone?" Lexa asked.
Nova froze, the move halfway between squares.
Then she moved a pawn. "Why?"
"A name from before. From the outside. I think he might be connected to why I was set up."
Nova leaned back. "Dangerous curiosity, Quinn. Names like that echo in places you don't want to go."
Lexa narrowed her eyes. "You know him."
Nova didn't answer. But her silence said enough.
---
That Night — Lexa's Cell
The cell door creaked open.
Lexa tensed but didn't rise. A figure slipped inside, silent and cloaked in shadow.
Not Nova.
She had a half-burned raven tattoo inked on her wrist, barely visible beneath the sleeve.
A different inmate. Thin, wiry, eyes too sharp.
"You asking about Greystone?" the woman whispered.
Lexa rose. "Who's asking?"
"Someone who owes him nothing."
Lexa stepped forward. "What do you know?"
The woman handed her a folded scrap of paper. "Meet me during laundry shift. Back hall. No guards."
Before Lexa could respond, the woman slipped out.
Lexa unfolded the paper. One word was scribbled inside:
Penance
A cold shiver ran down her spine. The word struck a chord deep inside, a memory she couldn't place, sharp and unsettling.
She stared at it long into the night.
---
Next Morning — Laundry Hall
Steam hung heavy in the air, machines humming like insects. Lexa moved through the rows of rolling carts and dirty sheets until she found the back corridor.
The inmate from the night before was already there.
"Who are you?" Lexa asked.
The woman smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Just someone who listens. You made noise. The wrong kind."
Lexa folded her arms. "Then why help me?"
"Because people think you're weak. That makes them careless around you. I want to know what you're really after."
Lexa hesitated. Then said, "I was framed. I want to know who used my clearance. I want to know if Damon Cross is here to finish me off or clean his own mess."
The woman nodded. "Then you're going to need more than Nova. You'll need information. Secrets. And I have some."
"For what price?"
The woman smiled. "Just one truth. What happened between you and the Fed?"
Lexa's jaw clenched. "That's not a fair trade."
The woman shrugged. "Then you'll stay in the dark."
Lexa looked away, then back. "We were partners. Close. Then someone used my login to access classified files. I traced it to his terminal. He said it wasn't him. I believed him. Then the arrest warrant came."
Silence.
Then the woman said, "Greystone didn't work alone."
Lexa stiffened. "He was part of it?"
"He was the hand. Not the head."
"Then who was?"
The woman turned to leave. "Follow the penance. It starts with the ones who don't bleed."
Lexa stared after her, pulse racing.
---
Laundry Room — Blackridge Prison
The clang of metal carts and the steady drone of washing machines filled the cramped laundry room. The thick, humid air clung to Lexa's skin as she folded a stack of prison-issued uniforms with precise, practiced movements.
Nova's footsteps echoed behind her until her shadow stretched over the worn table.
"You've been catching eyes lately," Nova said low, almost conspiratorial.
Lexa didn't look up. "Doesn't mean anything."
Nova smirked, sliding next to her. "Maybe not. But some people have to decide if they want to be seen."
Lexa glanced at Nova from the corner of her eye.
From the shadows near the stacks of clean laundry, a figure stepped forward—a tall woman with cold eyes and quiet confidence that commanded attention without a word.
Her dark hair was pulled tight, and her movements were fluid, deliberate. A faded tattoo peeked from beneath her sleeve — a half-burned raven.
"That's Greer," Nova said, nodding toward her.
Lexa's eyes met Greer's briefly. Something flickered in that look — caution, maybe respect, maybe something deeper.
"Greer's part of my crew," Nova continued, voice steady. "She doesn't waste words, but what she says matters. She's been here longer than most, seen things you can't imagine."
Greer's gaze flicked to Lexa again, sharper this time, like a warning wrapped in curiosity.
Nova leaned in closer, lowering her voice. "She hears things. Whispers that float through the walls of this place—secrets the guards don't want us to know. Things that don't show up on any report."
Lexa folded her arms, intrigued despite herself.
"What kind of secrets?" she asked.
Nova shrugged, a shadow crossing her face. "Dark ones. Ones that make you question who really runs Blackridge."
Greer gave the smallest nod, stepping back into the dim corner, blending with the shadows.
Nova's eyes lingered on Lexa a moment longer. "You're not invisible anymore. That means something in here."
Lexa swallowed hard. The weight of those words settled deep. She could feel eyes on her now — from Greer, from Nova, maybe even from corners of the prison she hadn't noticed before.
For the first time since she'd arrived, she felt the stirrings of something dangerous… and powerful.
---
The next morning, Blackridge Prison buzzed with a strange energy.
Lexa sensed it before she even opened her eyes. The air felt charged, like a storm pressing against the concrete walls.
During roll call, Mara shot her a glare, and Nova offered a silent nod of acknowledgment — a strange, silent treaty formed in the wake of the cafeteria standoff. No one touched Lexa that night, but the silence wasn't safety. It was tension, waiting to snap.
In the yard, Nova walked alongside her like it was nothing.
"You shouldn't have picked a fight with Mara," Nova said casually.
"I didn't. She picked it with me."
Nova shrugged. "Still. She has history here."
"And you?" Lexa asked.
"I prefer not to make enemies unless I mean to keep them."
Lexa arched an eyebrow. "Is that a warning?"
Nova smiled, slow and sly. "Just a suggestion."
---
Later that day, the weekly supplies were being sorted in the storage wing.
Lexa was assigned to inventory alongside Greer—the inmate with a hearing problem and a penchant for muttering to herself.
Greer didn't look up when Lexa walked in.
"You're the one they're all whispering about," she said. "The traitor. The ghost from the news."
Lexa froze. "You hear a lot for someone with bad ears."
Greer chuckled, low and raspy. Then suddenly, she leaned in, voice barely above a whisper: "Ears don't have to be good to hear secrets. You just have to be where no one notices you."
Lexa glanced around, intrigued.
"And what have you heard?"
Greer dropped a box of canned goods with a thud. "They're cleaning house. Quietly. Someone's slipping out at night, meeting with people who don't wear orange or blue."
Lexa felt a chill creep up her spine.
"Staff?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. Someone new's poking around where they shouldn't. And the last time someone did that, they found her floating in the laundry tank."
Lexa swallowed. "You think I'm in danger?"
Greer looked at her, one milky eye gleaming. "You were in danger the moment you walked through that gate. But something tells me you didn't come here to survive. You came here to dig."
Lexa didn't respond. She didn't need to.
As Greer walked away, Nova appeared in the doorway.
"Interesting friend you've made," she said.
"She hears things."
"She also sees ghosts," Nova replied dryly. "Don't get too cozy."
Lexa raised an eyebrow. "Worried I might like someone more than you?"
Nova gave her a long, unreadable look. "I don't like things I can't predict. And right now? You're unpredictable."
Before Lexa could respond, the shift bell rang, and they were ushered out by guards.
---
That night, Lexa sat in her cell, staring at the ceiling. Her mind spun.
---
Flashback – Two Years Ago
A screen. A paused security feed. Greystone's face. She remembered the image vividly—he wasn't supposed to be in that building. It was a private facility in Montana, blacklisted even to Tier 1 analysts.
Lexa had brought it up once in a briefing.
Damon had dismissed it. "Misfiled data. Ghost pings. It happens."
But the look in his eyes had said something else.
She never forgot that file.
She never forgot Greystone's eyes.
Now, they haunted her in a new prison.
---
End Flashback
Present Day — Blackridge Prison, Cellblock D
Lexa lay awake, her cot stiff beneath her. Outside her cell, footsteps passed. A hush. A whisper. Then silence.
She sat up slowly, listening. Her gut twisted.
Someone was out there.
Not a guard. The steps were too soft, too careful.
She slid to the edge of her cot, barefoot, tense. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, shadows slicing across the concrete floor from the hallway lights.
Then… a folded note slid under her door.
Lexa froze.
She waited. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. Nothing. No more footsteps. Whoever left it had vanished.
She reached down, unfolded the scrap.
Just three words, scrawled in neat block letters:
HE NEVER LEFT.
Her heart stilled.
She stared at the words, her mind racing.
Not Greystone.
Damon?
No—Greystone.
But hadn't Damon said he was dead? Hadn't they all?
Lexa's hands trembled slightly, the note clenched between her fingers. The past wasn't done with her. And now, the walls of Blackridge weren't just holding her in—they were closing in.
If Greystone was alive, it meant everything she believed about her arrest, her betrayal, the trial… was a lie.
She wasn't hunting ghosts anymore.
She was being hunted by them.
And just then a scream echoed faintly in the distance—cut short.
Lexa backed toward her cot, eyes still on the door.
The note trembled in her fingers.
She wasn't alone.
And whatever was coming for her…
…had already found a way in.
[Author's Thoughts]
So… lines were drawn, alliances shifted, and Lexa just got her first real taste of what it means to survive Blackridge.
If you thought prison politics were dangerous, just wait till you realize not every ghost is dead… and not every enemy wears a uniform.
Nova's silence?
Greer's warnings?
The name that keeps resurfacing like a curse—Greystone?
Let's just say: it's not what you think. 😈
Thank you for sticking with Lexa's journey as the shadows thicken. If you caught the twist hiding in plain sight… you deserve a federal analyst badge of your own.
Drop your theories below — but trust me, whatever you're guessing... it's darker.
See you in the next chapter.
Things are about to get loud.
— Praise_Win ✍️