FIONA
I siton the cold floor with my knees pulled to my chest, the concrete pressing against my back and the fluorescent lights above buzzing incessantly.
Every slam of a door, every shouted command from the hall outside makes my stomach flip as if it’s trying to escape through my throat.
The sterile walls offer no comfort, no sense of safety, just a harsh reminder that I’m trapped.
My fingers dig into my knees, clenching and unclenching as I try to slow my racing thoughts.
I don’t have my phone, and the lack of any way to contact Cormac gnaws at me.
I can’t tell how much time has passed. Minutes? Hours? It feels like an eternity.
The sound of shouting and the metallic clang of doors slamming are relentless, and somewhere among all of it is Cormac.
I glance at the guard stationed near the door.
He’s leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, completely unmoved by the chaos outside. His indifference is infuriating.
“What’s happening?” I demand, my voice cracking. “Where’s Cormac?”
“Everyone’s on lockdown. You need to stay here and wait it out.” He keeps his tone flat, as if that explains everything.
“Wait it out? There’s a riot going on out there! I need to know if Cormac is okay!”
He shrugs, like my panic is just another background noise he can drown out.
“Trust me, it’s safer for you to be here.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone.
I'm on my feet before I can even register it.
“Can I please make a call?” My voice is trembling.
He frowns, glancing down at his phone. “Visitors don’t make calls inside the prison.”
I step closer, letting the desperation I feel bleed into my words. “Look, if something happens to Cormac and you could have prevented it by letting me make a single phone call, your life is over. Do you understand me?”
For the first time, the guard hesitates. There’s a flicker of recognition in his eyes, a momentary acknowledgment that I mean business.
“Fine. One call. But make it quick.”
I snatch up the phone, though my hands are shaking so badly I almost drop it.
My fingers fumble over the numbers, and when the call connects, and Brennan’s voice comes through the line, I choke on a sob of relief.
“Did he talk?” Brennan asks, concern already threading through his tone.
“Brennan, t-there’s been a riot.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I’m sorry,what?”
“A riot. Cormac… he’s gone.” My voice cracks, and my hands tremble as I clutch the phone.
“Fiona, slow down. Tell meexactlywhat happened.”
I take a shaky breath, my chest rising and falling too fast.
“I-I was with him. We were on our way to meet Freddy when the alarm went off. The inmates started rioting, and I… Oh God, I don’t know what happened. We were separated?—”
