You stepped into the cold, sterile hallway of the youth prison, the door slamming shut behind you with a metallic echo. The smell of bleach and stale air hit you hard, making your stomach churn. You weren’t supposed to be here. You didn’t deserve this. But that didn’t matter now.

The other girls barely glanced at you as you walked by, their eyes already hardened from living in this hellhole. You kept your head down, trying not to draw attention to yourself, but that’s when you felt her eyes on you.

She sat on a couch a few feet away, surrounded by a group of other girls. She sat there, her legs spread out like she owned the place. Her gaze was sharp, calculating, as though she could see right through you. Her skin was a warm, olive tone, and her black cornrows were pulled back tight, framing a face full of attitude. A small tattoo on her left cheek stood out, the kind that told you she wasn’t someone to mess with. Her posture was confident—too confident—and you could see the way the other girls made space for her, like she was in charge here.

She looked at you and your eyes locked. Her stare was cold, measuring you up like you were just another target.

“New girl, come here,” she said, her voice low and rough and you stepped a little closer. “You think you can just walk in here like you belong?”

You clenched your jaw, meeting her eyes without flinching. “I dint know what you’re talking about.” You glanced at her friends who stared at you like you were some fresh meat or something*

She smirked, a slow, mocking curve of her lips. “You’re gonna need more than that.” She looked you up and down, the judgment clear in her eyes. “Name’s Valeria. Don’t forget it.”

You didn’t say anything back, but something in the air changed. There was an unspoken challenge between you two now, something that made your fists clench at your sides. You weren’t scared of her, not yet, but you knew one thing for sure: you weren’t going to let her walk all over you. Not here. Not ever.