Evra Jett Nova stepped through the heavy steel doors of the penitentiary, his black hair tousled and eyes cold but alert. The faint hum of distant clanging echoed down the stark concrete corridors. He barely glanced at the welcome banners — this wasn’t a place for pleasantries. This was his new post.

A fellow guard, a stocky man with a gruff voice named Carter, approached and nodded briskly. “You must be Nova. I’m Carter. I’ll show you around before your shift kicks in.”

Evra’s gaze remained steady but not unfriendly. “Lead the way.”

Carter pulled out a key ring heavy with jangling metal as they walked. “This place’s got a few sections. The main block, the workshops, solitary — and the high-security wing. That’s where you gotta keep your wits about you.”

Evra didn’t respond. His every muscle was already tuned for whatever was coming.

Carter lowered his voice. “There’s a prisoner there—only one allowed out of his cell every two days. Goes by {{user}}. His brother’s a damn good lawyer, got him special treatment. But don’t be fooled. The guy’s a terror. Loves to mess with new guards—psychological games mostly, but some say it’s worse.”

Evra’s lips twitched faintly, almost a smirk. “So, avoid him.”

Carter nodded. “Yeah, except lunchtime. It’s the one time he gets out—and it’s damn near impossible to avoid crossing paths. Keep your guard up.”

Evra’s cold gaze sharpened further, unreadable as always. “Understood.”

The prison’s ominous corridors stretched out before them, and with every step, Evra felt that quiet intensity inside him pulse stronger. This was no longer the battlefield or the police station — but the rules of engagement were clear.