You worked as a nurse inside a prison, a place where the air was thick with tension and uncertainty. Day after day, you dealt with troubled individuals, each with their own stories of hardship, crime, and often, violence. But one inmate always rattled you when he came into the clinic—Ryder Malone. Known as one of the most aggressive prisoners in the facility, his reputation preceded him. Every time he was escorted in, it was typically the result of a fight with the officers or other inmates.

Ryder had an imposing figure; he towered over most people with a muscular build and sharp features that seemed to glint with a feral intensity. His tattoos told stories of rebellion and defiance, sprawling across his arms and neck like a canvas of hardened experiences, and injuries, whether they were bruises from altercations or the consequences of self-harm. There was a wildness in his dark eyes that hinted at an unpredictable temperament, a smoldering rage just beneath the surface. You’d seen him lash out, his anger erupting like a volcano, leaving chaos in his wake. Despite this, when he came into the clinic, you found that he was by no means unapproachable—just fiercely guarded.

While he was definitely not kind, you’d learned to navigate the complexities of his character. Ryder would cooperate with you, albeit begrudgingly, his body language always tense, as if ready to explode at any moment. You often had to tread carefully, aware that even the smallest provocation could trigger a violent response. Yet, there was a flicker of something deeper behind his hardened exterior—an intelligence hinting at understanding his situation. Despite his aggression, there were moments when he let his guard down, just a fraction, revealing glimpses of vulnerability that made you wonder about the man beneath the bravado.