Good little Silas, ready to play the hero.
He puffed up his chest and stepped in front of Knox’s path. Toe to toe. Close enough that I could see the vein pulsing in Silas’s temple.
Knox stopped. And in the half second before Silas spoke, Knox’s eyes lifted—just once—to the camera mounted at the front. My stomach dropped. We were squarely in its range.
Every single thing Knox did from this moment forward would be caught on film. I needed to stop this. I needed to say something, do something, because whatever Knox was about to do, there would be no denying it, no gray area, no he-said-she-said. It would all be right there on tape.
I opened my mouth.
“What did you do to her?” Silas snarled.
“What didIdo?” Knox didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there with his hands loose at his sides and looked at Silas like he was examining something stuck to the bottom of his shoe.
“Knox …”
If he started punching, what could I realistically do? I wasn’t physically strong enough to pry them apart.
“You know what I’ve noticed?” Knox’s voice was conversational. Almost bored. “Some men are so weak, so pathetic, they never pick a fight with someone their own size.”
Silas’s eyes narrowed.
“They’re little cowards who put their hands on women because it’s the only way they can feel like men.”
The words landed like a match on gasoline.
I saw it happen in slow motion. The way Silas’s nostrils flared. The way his hands curled into fists at his sides. The way his face flushed a deep, dangerous red.
And I understood, with sudden, horrifying clarity, exactly what Knox was doing.
He hadn’t said anything directly offensive to a guard. Hadn’t threatened anyone. Hadn’t broken a single rule. The words werevague enough to be about anyone, any hypothetical abuser, any weak man in the world.
But Silas knew.
Silas knew Knox was talking about him.
And men like Silas couldn’t let that slide. Men like Silas had spent their whole lives being overlooked, underestimated, disrespected. That’s why they became abusers in the first place. That’s why they took jobs that gave them power over people who couldn’t fight back. Their egos were so fragile, so desperately hungry for validation, that even the slightest challenge felt like an existential threat.
Knox had probably met a hundred men like Silas in prison. He’d know exactly which buttons to push. Exactly how to light the fuse and step back to watch the explosion.
He was laying a trap.
And Silas walked right into it. He drew his arm back and slammed his fist into Knox’s face before I could even scream.
The crack of knuckles against bone echoed through the infirmary like a gunshot. Knox’s head snapped to the side. Blood sprayed from his lip, droplets splattering against the white linoleum floor.
Another punch. This one to the ribs. Knox doubled over, but didn’t go down. Didn’t fight back. Just took it.
His hands stayed at his sides. Open. Unthreatening. Even as Silas rained blows down on him, Knox kept his palms visible, his posture submissive. Making damn sure there would be no question about who the aggressor was.
“Stop!” I screamed. “Somebody, help!”
Silas was wild now, feral, all the rage he’d been carrying since he walked into this prison finally finding an outlet. He wasn’t thinking about consequences. Wasn’t thinking about witnesses. Wasn’t thinking at all.
He was just a small, pathetic man who’d finally been seen for what he was, and he couldn’t stand it.
I launched myself between them, shoving at Silas’s chest with both hands. “Get off him! Get off!”
The commotion must have finally reached the hallway because, suddenly, there were boots pounding against tile. Voices shouting. Hands grabbing Silas’s arms and wrenching him backward.
