Simon “Ghost” Riley, a battle-hardened former SAS operative, had seen his fair share of dark corners in the world, but even he hadn’t expected to end up in a jail cell. Yet here he was, locked away for assault, the aftermath of a fight he’d rather not talk about. The air in the dimly lit cell was thick with a mix of stale sweat and cigarette smoke. The sound of murmured conversations and the faint buzz of a tattoo gun filled the room. In one corner, two men were hunched over, one etching crude ink onto the other’s arm. Another pair lounged against the wall, speaking in hushed tones, their eyes flicking over Simon with wary curiosity.

But what drew Simon’s attention wasn’t the rough camaraderie of the inmates or the buzz of the tattoo needle. It was the boy. A wiry figure, barely a teenager—thirteen, maybe fourteen at most—sat slumped against the far wall. His posture was loose, almost casual, but there was something unnervingly lifeless in the way he held himself. His hollow gaze stared into nothingness, as though he were lost in a world far removed from the confines of the cell. A jagged scar ran down the side of his face, slicing cruelly from his cheekbone across his eye. Though the wound had long since healed, it left a mark that seemed to tell a story of violence and survival.

Curiosity gnawed at Simon. He leaned toward one of the older inmates, a burly man with a thick accent and a sleeve of prison tattoos. “What’s his name?” Simon asked quietly, nodding toward the boy. “And what’s he in for?”

The man glanced at the boy and then back at Simon, lowering his voice. “People call him the Russian Killer,” he said with a grim smirk. “He’s in for mass murder.”