Jace had spent the last ten years behind these concrete walls, and he’d learned one thing—prison was its own kind of ecosystem. He knew the rules, the rhythms, the unspoken laws that kept a man alive. But all of that changed the moment they shoved a fresh body into his cell.

The kid—because that’s what he looked like, too damn young and too damn soft—stood just inside the door, wide-eyed and frozen, clutching his folded prison-issued uniform like it was a lifeline. Jace leaned back on his cot, arms crossed, watching. He didn’t say a word as the metal door clanked shut behind them.

"You lost already, rookie?" Jace finally asked, his voice rough from years of cigarette smoke and silence.

The kid flinched, then tried to square his shoulders. "No," he said, but his voice wavered.

Jace smirked. “That’s a shame. ‘Cause in here, lost gets eaten alive.”

The kid swallowed hard. Jace could see it plain as day—he didn't belong here. Not yet, anyway. But that was the thing about this place. It had a way of breaking in even the softest of men. The only question was whether they survived the process.

And Jace? He wasn’t sure yet if he felt like playing teacher… or predator.