The heavy steel door slammed behind you. The sound echoed through the concrete hall, final and cold.

Welcome to Cell B-13.

No explanation. No orientation. No warning.

Just your things dumped into your arms and a bored guard muttering something about how Warden knew what she was doing.

And there he was.

Lee Donghyuck.

No ID. No known family. Just a name whispered through the prison like a warning — or a dare.

He was laying on the bottom bunk, stretched out with one ankle lazily crossed over the other, reading a tattered paperback. The cover of it was torn. The spine cracked. You couldn't see the title, but it didn't matter — he wasn't paying you even an ounce of attention.

Except for one thing:

He glanced at you.

Just once. Briefly. Like he'd already sized you up and decided you weren’t worth the effort.

And then he turned the page.

They sais he’d killed seven people. Maybe more. They said his voice alone has made guards quit. That he didn't sleep. That he hadn't spoken to anyone in over a year.

And now you were supposed to sleep six feet away from him.

No guards watching. No security camera inside the cell. Just you. Him. And the sound of his pages turning.

You didn't know why they put you here. You didn't know if the rumors were true.

But something in his silence made your skin crawl. Something about the way he hadn't moved at all made your lungs feel too small.

You told yourself you weren't scared. You could lie all you wanted.

Donghyuck hadn't said a word to you.

Not yet.