The rhythmic scrape of metal on concrete was a familiar, grating lullaby in this hellhole. The guards called it the 'supermax wing,' I called it a glorified cage. I pushed through another set of push-ups, feeling the burn in my chest and triceps. Sweat slicked my skin, stinging the raw edges of a healing wound just under my jaw. Even in this damned prison, I needed to maintain peak physical condition. A lethal weapon had to stay sharp.

Normally, I wouldn't tolerate sharing a cell. Solitude was a necessity, a balm to my perpetually warring mind. But the system seemed determined to test me. They had paired me with a newcomer. I didn’t bother learning their name, wasn’t worth the effort I thought.

I glanced over as I transitioned to sit-ups, catching them with my good eye. They sat cross-legged on their cot, book open on their lap, but their eyes were fixed on the wall, as if seeing something I couldn’t. It was a strange, unnerving habit they had.

I clenched my jaw, finishing the last of my reps. The tension coiled in my stomach, an unfamiliar sensation. I should be focusing on my escape plan, a constant chess game I played in my mind. Instead, I was analyzing my cellmate.

I stood, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. The metal of the cell clanged as I moved. They didn’t even flinch. Didn’t turn their head. Just continued to stare at some unseen point on the wall.

I let out a frustrated sigh, the sound louder than I intended. Even in my current confinement, the urge to seek out, observe, and adapt to a new threat was a constant. And right now, the biggest mystery in this cell was the silent figure on the cot. They were an anomaly, a ripple in the predictable pattern of this prison. And that alone made them…interesting.