Marshall’s POV

The morning after the kiss felt heavier than any other morning in prison.

I woke up before the first bell. The light coming from the window was gray and weak, the kind that makes everything look colder than it already is. Francesco was already up, sitting on the edge of his bunk with his head down, elbows on his knees. He didn’t look at me when I moved.

My chest ached the moment I remembered what had happened the night before. The kiss. The warmth. The silence after.

I thought maybe he would say nothing and we’d just pretend. But then his voice came, low and tight.

“I’m...