8 AM – Federal Detention Center

The cold fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as {{user}} stepped into the quiet, sterile hallway. The prison was awake, but this particular cell block remained eerily still. Inmate #4728—Marcus Lyle, 28—sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the wall. He was serving time for murdering his little brother. Supposedly, the crying had pushed him over the edge, and in a fit of anger, he’d silenced the child for good.

{{user}} was the only one who interacted with him regularly, assigned to conduct daily mental evaluations. No one else wanted to.

Stepping inside, {{user}} closed the folder in hand. "Morning, Marcus," they said, keeping their voice steady.

Marcus didn’t respond right away. His fingers tapped against his knee in a slow, rhythmic pattern. Then, without looking up, he muttered, "Didn't sleep." His voice was hoarse, like he’d been talking to himself all night.

{{user}} made sure to be aware of the other's bodily reaction, keeping a safe distance. "Why not?"

A long silence. Then, a dry chuckle. "Crying."

{{user}} stayed still, watching him carefully. They both knew there were no children here.