Chapter 2 — The Outsider

Liam

The rehabilitation room was a neglected corner of Crestview Penitentiary—a place where ambition stalled and hope was left to fade. Liam Callahan sat slouched in one of the mismatched chairs along the back wall, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the flickering monitor in front of him. The outdated computer displayed a rudimentary educational program, its clunky interface a cruel joke disguised as an attempt at rehabilitation.

He muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yes, because mastering the fine art of cell formatting will definitely set me on the path to redemption. Maybe I’ll revolutionize the world through spreadsheets.”

He glanced around the room. The stale air seemed heavier here, the faint tang of disinfectant and the musty scent of peeling paint creating an oppressive atmosphere. Dust coated the rows of outdated computers, and a crack in the whiteboard revealed layers of grime. A single barred window filtered in a thin shaft of light, illuminating motes that danced aimlessly, like the room’s forgotten purpose. Its neglect mirrored the larger truth about the prison’s hollow promises of reform.

Liam leaned back, letting his fingers hover over the keyboard without pressing another key. The program was a distraction at best, a thin veil over the work that actually mattered to him. His notebook sat beside the monitor, its battered leather cover worn smooth from years of use. Inside, scattered notes and fragments of code formed an encrypted tapestry—a growing map of Crestview’s secrets. To the casual observer, it was chaos. To Liam, it was precision. It was proof that the walls around him held more than just inmates—they held truths begging to be uncovered.

He allowed a faint smirk to curl his lips at the irony. He was still doing what had landed him here: digging where he wasn’t supposed to, exposing what others wanted buried. Only this time, the stakes felt lower. The world had ignored the truth once before. Why should now be any different?

But even as he thought this, the weight in his chest remained. The guilt never left. It wasn’t just the hacking—it was the fallout. The people whose lives had been shattered by his righteous crusade. He’d wanted to make a difference, to reveal the rot at the heart of a powerful corporation. But his good intentions hadn’t saved the innocent bystanders caught in the blast radius. That scar on his cheek, jagged and pale, was his permanent reminder of the cost of his choices—left by someone who had lost everything because of him.

He drummed his fingers against the desk, the rhythm uneven, restless. The temptation to open the notebook and lose himself in the work tugged at him like an old habit. To keep moving forward. To stop thinking.

“Lost in your head again, huh?”

The voice was calm and warm, cutting through the silence with an ease that Liam could never quite understand. He didn’t look up—he didn’t need to. Miguel Torres leaned against the doorframe, his steady brown eyes taking in the scene with quiet amusement. The small tattoo of a dove on Miguel’s wrist caught the dim light, a stark contrast to their bleak surroundings.

“You’re spending too much time with that thing,” Miguel said, nodding toward the notebook.

Liam raised an eyebrow, his tone dry. “And what’s your professional assessment? Should I take up knitting? Write a memoir? Join the prison choir?”

Miguel chuckled softly as he crossed the room, pulling out a chair and sitting across from Liam. His movements were fluid, deliberate—the kind of grace that came from years of learning how to navigate an unforgiving world. Even now, after months of sharing a cell, Miguel’s calm presence still made Liam uneasy. It was like the man carried an unshakable belief that life, no matter how cruel, could still be endured.

“You could try talking to people. Actual conversations. Not just one-liners.” Miguel’s grin widened as he leaned back in the chair, his tone light but knowing.

Liam’s smirk dimmed. “Talking to people is how you end up screwed over,” he said flatly, his voice losing its edge. “You of all people should know that.”

For the briefest moment, Miguel’s expression flickered. A shadow passed through his eyes—pain, maybe, or a memory. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But I’ve seen what happens when people shut themselves off. It doesn’t end well.”

Liam’s jaw tightened. His fingers itched toward the notebook, as if holding it might shield him from the weight of Miguel’s words. “Sometimes it’s better that way,” he muttered. “Easier.”

“Easier doesn’t mean better, hermano,” Miguel said, his voice steady, unshaken. He gestured to the small dove tattoo on his wrist. “You’ve got to find something, Liam. A reason to keep your head up. Otherwise, this place will eat you alive.”

Liam didn’t reply. His gaze lingered on the tattoo for a moment, its image stirring something he couldn’t quite name. Hope, maybe. But hope was dangerous here.

The sound of footsteps in the hallway broke the stillness. Liam’s body tensed instinctively, his shoulders tightening as he turned toward the door. A guard stepped into the room, her expression calm but unreadable. Sophie Lane. Liam recognized her immediately—the guard who didn’t quite fit. She wasn’t like the others, who barked orders and wielded authority like a weapon. No, Sophie was... different. And in this place, different was dangerous.

Her hazel eyes swept over the room, taking in the scene with quiet focus. For a moment, her gaze landed on Liam. He saw her glance—just briefly—at the pocket where his notebook now rested. A flicker of curiosity crossed her face, subtle but unmistakable. Liam’s pulse quickened, but he forced himself to stay composed, even as his instincts screamed at him to keep his guard up.

“Torres,” Sophie said, her voice steady but devoid of the usual edge guards used. “You’re needed in the yard.”

Miguel stood, his movements deliberate, unhurried. He gave Liam a knowing look before turning back to Sophie. “See you around,” he said, his tone light but laced with something deeper.

Liam watched him leave, the absence of Miguel’s steady presence leaving a strange void. Sophie lingered, her eyes drifting back to him. He could feel her studying him, and it made his skin crawl. He hated being looked at—being weighed, assessed. Even if her expression held no malice, just quiet curiosity, it was enough to unsettle him.

“You don’t have to hover,” Liam said, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Sophie tilted her head slightly, the light catching the auburn strands of her ponytail. There was something patient in her expression, something that made Liam’s skin prickle. “Just doing my job.”

“Does your job include staring at people, or is that a bonus feature?”

Her lips twitched, almost forming a smile but not quite. “Noted.” She moved further into the room, her gaze sweeping over the computers and the smudged whiteboard on the wall. Liam tracked her movements, his defenses rising with every step. She didn’t carry the same air of menace as the other guards, but that didn’t mean he could trust her. Trust got people hurt.

Finally, she turned back to him, her hazel eyes meeting his. “You’re Liam Callahan.”

It wasn’t a question, but Liam responded anyway, his voice laced with mockery. “What gave it away? The uniform? The scowl?”

Sophie didn’t take the bait. Her expression remained calm, her arms loosely folded across her chest. “I’ve heard about you.”

“Let me guess,” Liam said. “Infamous troublemaker? Danger to society? Or just another inmate to keep an eye on?”

“None of the above,” she replied simply. “Just... someone who seems out of place.”

Liam blinked, his sarcasm faltering for a moment. He recovered quickly, his smirk returning. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises.”

Sophie didn’t respond. She studied him a moment longer, as if trying to solve a puzzle, then turned and walked out of the room without another word. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Liam alone with the whir of the computers and his spiraling thoughts.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the empty doorway. Sophie Lane was definitely different. But different didn’t mean safe. And in Crestview, safe wasn’t an option.

Reaching into his pocket, Liam pulled out the notebook, his fingers tracing the encrypted notes inside. Whatever Sophie was or wasn’t, she didn’t change the facts. He was still alone. Still an outsider. And in a way, that was comforting. At least it was something he understood.