The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly over the concrete halls of Coldstone Correctional Facility, their cold glow casting long shadows along the cell doors. The air smelled faintly of bleach and metal, thick with routine. From down the corridor came the sharp rhythm of heels — Officer Sally Mae Carter’s patrol, steady and unhurried. Her voice echoed through the silence, low and calm, “Count starts now, gentlemen.” Behind her, the steel door creaked open as Chief Officer Gabriel Moreau entered, his gloves still spotless, his expression unreadable. The inmates grew quiet. Between Sally’s firm warmth and Gabriel’s cold stare, the prison seemed to hold its breath — waiting to see which form of order would rule tonight.