Page 3 of Maddening Fixation

A vow.

My dark hair had grown longer over the years, brushing my shoulders. Threads of silver cut through the black despite the fact that I wasn’t even thirty yet.

Prison aged men differently.

Some left broken. Some left dead.

And some left looking like monsters.

I looked exactly like what Ravencliff had tried to create.

A monster.

The difference was that I had learned how to control mine.

I took two slow steps beyond the towering gates of Raven Cliff Florida State Prison.

Gravel crunched beneath my boots.

Then I stopped. Something tugged at me. I turned and looked back over my shoulder.

The prison loomed behind me.

Towering grey walls. Guard towers. Layers of razor wire glinting beneath weak sunlight.

The sight hit harder than I expected.

My jaw tightened.

I stared at the prison for several seconds.

Then shook my head.

Never again.

Never fucking again.

A low, thunderous rumble of engines rolled across the prison yard, drawing my attention away from the towering gates behind me.

I turned toward the sound just as a convoy swept into view, its arrival so perfectly synchronized it felt less like transportation and more like the advance of an occupying army.

Seventeen black vehicles glided through the prison gates in flawless formation, each maintaining the exact same distance from the next.

Bentleys with windows dark as obsidian.

Armored SUVs built to withstand gunfire.

Custom security transports that looked capable of surviving a battlefield.

The combined weight of steel, horsepower, and wealth was staggering—enough to finance a war, let alone win one.

They came to a halt with mechanical precision, every vehicle stopping at the exact same moment as though directed by a single unseen command.

Then the doors opened.

Not one after another.

All at once.