Chapter 1 — Welcome to Crestview

Sophie

The jagged silhouette of Crestview Penitentiary loomed against a slate-gray sky as Sophie Lane arrived for her shift. The prison’s concrete walls, streaked with water stains and pockmarked from years of neglect, rose like a fortress against the edge of the surrounding forest. Sophie parked her car in the gravel lot, its tires crunching softly in the still morning air. She adjusted the silver bracelet on her wrist, the charm engraved with the word "Hope" cold against her skin. It was a small ritual, grounding her before stepping into the world of steel, concrete, and tension. She tucked the bracelet beneath her sleeve, a quiet promise to herself to hold on to what it represented.

A guard tower loomed over the main gates, the faceless figure stationed above giving her a brief, indifferent glance before scanning the perimeter. Sophie passed through the first security checkpoint, enduring the routine pat-down with a neutral expression. The metal detector emitted a sharp beep, prompting the officer on duty to wave her through after a cursory glance at her ID badge. The final gate unlocked with the familiar clink of her keycard, the sound echoing faintly down the corridor beyond like a distant warning. The heavy door groaned shut behind her, sealing her inside the world she had chosen to navigate.

The cellblock stretched before her, a shadow-filled artery pulsing with suppressed tension. Rows of metal doors lined the narrow corridor, each adorned with a small rectangular slot for meal trays. The air was thick with the mingling scents of sweat, disinfectant, and rust, forming an oppressive cocktail that Sophie had long since learned to endure. Overhead, the fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered sporadically, casting uneven shadows on the cracked concrete floor. Voices hummed and muttered behind the steel doors, rising and falling like the fractured symphony of a restless hive.

“Lane!” A sharp voice sliced through the din, snapping her out of her thoughts.

Officer Mark Daniels strode toward her, his heavy boots pounding the floor with deliberate authority. His uniform was immaculate, the crisp lines and spotless fabric a sharp contrast to the facility’s state of disrepair. His buzz cut and piercing gray eyes gave him the air of a man who demanded total control—and relished it. Sophie straightened instinctively, her hand brushing the keyring clipped to her belt.

“You’re late,” Daniels barked, stopping a few feet short of her.

Sophie’s gaze flicked to the clock mounted above the guard station—she still had five minutes before her shift officially began. Keeping her features neutral, she met his stare. “I arrived on time, sir.”

Daniels’ scowl deepened, the lines on his face carving deeper trenches. “On time isn’t early, and early’s what I expect. Guess punctuality’s not your strong suit, Lane.” His tone carried the sharp edge of a deliberate insult.

“Yes, sir,” Sophie replied, her voice calm but firm, refusing to rise to the bait.

Daniels lingered for a moment longer, his cold gaze raking over her as if searching for a crack in her composure. Then, with a dismissive wave of his hand, he stepped aside. “Get to the yard. Torres and the others are out there. Try to keep them from killing each other.”

“Yes, sir,” Sophie said again, her tone even. She resisted the temptation to roll her eyes as she walked past him.

The yard sprawled open before her, stark and barren beneath the dull morning sky. Cracked asphalt stretched to the towering chain-link fences topped with razor wire, the faint hum of the forest beyond barely audible over the restless murmurs of the inmates. The cold wind teased at her hair, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and decay. Small clusters of inmates dotted the space, their movements tense and deliberate, like animals in a fragile truce. The occasional clink of footsteps on asphalt punctuated the low rumble of conversation.

Miguel Torres stood near the edge of the yard, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his standard-issue uniform. His calm, watchful demeanor set him apart from the shifting unease of the yard. He spoke in low tones to two younger inmates, his body language relaxed but purposeful. Sophie made her way toward him, her hazel eyes sweeping across the yard as she cataloged potential trouble.

Miguel noticed her approach and tilted his head in greeting. “Officer Lane,” he said, his voice warm despite the tension in the air. “Another morning surviving Daniels, I see.”

Sophie allowed herself a faint, brief smile, though she kept her tone professional. “Barely. How’s it looking out here?”

Miguel’s gaze flickered toward a group gathered near the fence line, where voices were rising just slightly above the usual din. “Tempers are running high today. Weather, maybe. Or just the usual.” A shadow of something unspoken crossed his face, but he masked it quickly.

“Keep an eye on it for me,” Sophie said, her words more of a request than an order. Miguel had an uncanny ability to read the yard’s shifting currents—an intuition that even the most seasoned guards couldn’t match.

“Always do.” He shifted his weight subtly, his hand brushing the small dove tattoo inked on his wrist in what seemed like an unconscious gesture. Sophie’s gaze lingered on the movement, the tattoo’s delicate lines standing out against his weathered skin.

The sharp sound of a raised voice shattered the uneasy calm. Sophie turned toward the noise to see two inmates squaring off near the fence, their postures taut with hostility. A small crowd began to form around them, the murmurs growing louder as others moved to watch. The tension in the air thickened, prickling against Sophie’s skin. Her pulse quickened, but she steadied herself, striding toward the commotion with measured urgency.

“Break it up!” she called, her voice sharp and commanding as she approached the growing circle. The crowd hesitated, parting just enough to let her through.

The two men froze mid-motion, fists half-raised. One of them—a lanky man with a patchy beard—turned to sneer at her. “What’s the matter, Lane?” he drawled. “Afraid we’re gonna ruin your nice little morning stroll?”

Sophie didn’t flinch. She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his with quiet intensity. “No,” she said evenly, “but I’m afraid you’ll ruin your chances of finishing today outside of solitary. Stand down.”

The inmate’s smirk faltered, his bravado wavering under her steady gaze. His eyes flicked to his opponent—a younger man with a busted lip—before lowering his fists. The younger man mirrored the gesture reluctantly, though his glare lingered. Sophie stepped between them, her presence a silent barrier.

“Back to your groups,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Now.”

The tension hung in the air for a moment longer before the crowd began to disperse, murmurs and shuffling footsteps filling the void. Sophie’s fingers brushed the charm on her bracelet beneath her sleeve, the cool metal grounding her as the adrenaline ebbed.

Miguel caught her eye as she turned back toward the center of the yard. “Handled that well,” he said, his voice pitched low enough for only her to hear. “Not everyone would’ve done it like that.”

Sophie shrugged slightly, though her tone carried a trace of self-awareness. “It’s part of the job.”

Miguel tilted his head, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “Not the part most people care about.”

Before Sophie could respond, the sharp wail of the yard alarm cut through the air, scattering the inmates toward the cellblock doors. They moved in loose, uneven lines, their grumbles fading as the tension slowly dissipated. Sophie followed at the rear, her eyes scanning the groups for any lingering signs of unrest.

Back at the guard station, Daniels leaned casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed. The smirk on his face was anything but friendly.

“Handled that little spat in the yard, did you?” he asked, his tone dripping with condescension.

“I did,” Sophie replied evenly, meeting his gaze without wavering.

Daniels chuckled darkly, stepping into her path. “You’re lucky it didn’t escalate. Next time, don’t waste time talking. Just shut it down.”

Sophie’s jaw tightened, but she kept her tone steady. “I shut it down,” she said. “Without anyone getting hurt.”

The smirk faded from Daniels’ face, replaced by a cold gleam in his eyes. The air between them seemed to hum with unspoken tension. Then he stepped aside, his expression unreadable.

“Just remember, Lane,” he said as she passed. “This place isn’t about making friends. It’s about keeping order. Don’t forget where your loyalty lies.”

Sophie didn’t respond. She pushed the door open and stepped into the station, the faint hum of outdated monitors filling the room. Sliding into her chair, she let out a quiet breath, her fingers finding the bracelet beneath her sleeve.

It wasn’t the job she’d imagined when she first walked through Crestview’s gates, her heart full of optimism and her mind burning with the hope of making a real difference. Her eyes fell on the report in front of her—a dry, clinical recounting of the incident she had just resolved without violence. The words blurred for a moment as her mother’s voice echoed softly in her mind:

Hope, her mother had said. Sometimes, it’s all you need to make a difference.

Sophie wasn’t sure she believed that anymore. But as she straightened the paper and began to write, she knew one thing: she wasn’t ready to stop trying.