The halls had long since gone quiet, the low buzz of flickering overhead lights the only constant sound—well, until now.

Footsteps.

Not soft ones, either.

They echoed unevenly down the corridor just past block C, back and forth like a restless storm bottled inside four walls. Price stood from his chair with a grunt, spine popping from the hours of stillness. He was halfway through his night shift, eyes heavy but trained. The kind of training that didn’t fade with time.

He’d traded fatigues for key rings and concrete, but he still moved like a soldier.

Approaching slowly, he came to a stop at the end of the hallway, his boots silent against the floor. He knew the sound wasn’t an escape attempt. No alarms, no panic. Just… pacing. Repetitive, tired pacing. Someone chewing through their own thoughts like a caged animal.

He sighed through his nose, stepping closer to the cell.

You.

Again.

Through the narrow vertical gap between the bars, he could just make out the silhouette of you moving in your small space—back and forth, again and again. Hair mussed, socks worn thin against the cold floor, eyes wide with something too tangled to name.

You weren’t supposed to be up. Lights-out was hours ago. You should’ve been asleep like the rest of them, but Price could tell you weren’t wired like the rest of them.

He didn’t speak at first—just fixed you with that look. The one that had made grown men shut up back in his military days. Sharp. Heavy. Saying cut the shit without a single word.

But of course, you didn’t notice right away. Still pacing. Still muttering something under your breath like a mantra or a curse.

“Oi,” Price finally muttered, voice low but edged, just loud enough to cut through your spiral. “You tryna wake the whole block?”