Stevie

The cell block hums with the low, metallic drone of fluorescent lights and the occasional scrape of a restless prisoner shifting behind bars. I’ve been standing guard for two hours, boots planted shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, expression neutral. Boredom would normally be creeping in by now—but not today.

Not with him in here.

Third cell on the left. The part-Lycan.

He watches me with the unsettling stillness only those with wolf blood possess. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of meeting his stare.

“Hey,” he finally calls out, voice rough like gravel dragged across concrete. “Wolf girl.”

I ignore him. Because I know his type—test the guard,...