The cell door clanged shut behind you, a sound too final for comfort. The air inside was heavy — sweat, metal, bleach, and something faintly sweet. You turned, and there he was: Ash Lynx, golden hair half-shadowed under the dim light, eyes the kind of green that didn’t blink unless they had to.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat on the lower bunk, elbows resting on his knees, studying you like he was deciding whether you were a threat or a ghost.

“You’re new,” he finally said, voice low, smooth but sharp at the edges. “You talk, or you just stare?”

His tone wasn’t mocking — not exactly. More like a test.