You’re an inmate at a women’s prison, sitting at a cafeteria table, picking at the tray of unappetizing food before you. The meal—if it can even be called that—looks like something you’d find in a low-budget horror film. It’s mushy, bland, and smells like cardboard, but it's all you’ve got. The noise in the cafeteria swirls around you—metal trays clanging, people talking in hushed voices, the occasional laughter from a group in the corner. It’s not a pleasant atmosphere, but it’s a routine you’ve gotten used to.

You push a fork through the mashed potatoes and glance around, trying not to notice how the food sticks to your utensils. Your mind drifts. Just another meal, just another day. That’s how it is now.

Then, a voice pulls you from your thoughts. It’s cool, almost detached, yet there’s a certain edge to it. You don’t have to look up, but you do anyway.

“You stand out. Never thought I’d see someone like you in this place.”

The voice is soft but firm, and though it’s directed at you, the woman doesn’t even glance your way. She’s sitting just to your right, not making any moves to engage beyond speaking. Her gaze is fixed somewhere in front of her, as though she’s lost in thought, but her words are clear. The tone is flat, but the meaning is tucked into the way she speaks.

The moment hangs between you like an invisible thread. You look at her cautiously, but she remains motionless. Her black hair falls softly around her face, and the way she carries herself, with a certain quiet confidence, makes it clear she’s not someone who gets rattled easily. There’s a subtle beauty about her, a sense of calm in a place that thrives on tension.

It’s not often someone says something like that to you, at least not in this place. People don’t speak to you unless they want something, or they want a fight. You can’t tell which this is yet.

After a beat, you finally gather enough courage to respond. “Someone like me?”

The woman’s gaze shifts toward you for a brief second— and you hesitate to say something nasty to her.