I had a predictably bad sleep, made worse by the screeching arm that started bring overhead. It echoed across each level, slightly out of sync, creating a relentless, overpping wail that filled the space like a swarm of angry hornets. I’d been waking up all night, startled each time by the unfamiliar surroundings, before remembering where I was and why.

  At some point, I’d kicked off my clothes in frustration, so I climbed out of bed and quickly pulled them back on. Maggot’s warning about punctuality stuck in my mind. I relieved myself, dressed, and moved toward the door to see what was going on outside. I timed it just right because Ol’ Billy’s door was swinging open, which meant mine was next.

  Sure enough, the lock cnked and the door opened. A prisoner wearing bck gloves stepped in, hands outstretched.

  I just stared at him, unsure of what he wanted. He rolled his eyes.

  “I’m here for your bucket. We empty the waste every mornin’. You’re new, so we’ll let it slide today but tomorrow, you’d best be ready with it when the door opens, or you’ll get the stick.”

  He nodded toward the guard beside him, who proudly wore a baton on his hip. Not a metaphor, then.

  I handed the bucket over, trying not to gag as he dumped its contents into a hole in the trolley behind him. The smell hit like a punch to the face. I stepped back into my cell, doing my best not to breathe until they’d moved a few doors down.

  That’s when the prisoner in the next cell over stepped out and gave me a nod.

  “Come on, freshy. It’s feeding time.”

  He jerked his head toward the stairs and started walking. I followed, matching pace.

  “The name’s Amir,” he called over his shoulder. “Heard Billy give you the lowdown yesterday. He’s a good man. Hope you listened.”

  We reached a nding where a group of inmates were clustered together, chatting. They blocked most of the walkway. Amir offered a quick nod and a polite “scuse me,” which was returned with a grunt from a tall, broad-shouldered guy with a hawk tattoo near his eye.

  I followed Amir’s lead and tried to slip past with my own nod but a meaty hand nded on my chest and stopped me cold.

  “We’re talkin’ here,” the tattooed man said. His group instantly fell silent, undercutting the idea that they were having any kind of real conversation.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I said. “Just need to get by.”

  I made to step past, but again he blocked me with his hand. Amir, now beyond them, gnced back. I gave him an exasperated look. He shrugged. Message clear: I was on my own.

  “You’re bein’ a bit rude, pal,” Hawk Eye said, his tone mock-casual. He took a step forward, forcing me to step back. The flow of traffic behind us slowed, then stopped altogether. Heads turned. Eyes fixed on us.

  I recognised the signs. These guys weren’t just annoyed at me, no, they were picking a fight. The stairs behind me were blocked. If I jumped from this level, I’d probably survive not without breaking something, but survival all the same. I could try apologising again, but that would brand me as a pushover. This was my first morning here. No one knew who I was or what I could do. Whatever happened now would define me in the eyes of the rest of the block.

  I wasn’t one to back down. I’d take a beating before I let someone establish dominance over me in a pce like this. After all, it was better to bleed a little than live under someone’s boot.

  I stepped into Hawk Eye’s space.

  “Rude?” I said. “You haven’t seen me rude yet.”

  I pced both hands ft against his chest. Not a shove, not with any real power, just a signal that I was ready to go if he was. Admittedly it was a challenge but what could I do? You needed a rep in a pce like Achrane.

  He blinked in surprise. He was shorter than me, which helped. Around us, the gathered prisoners let out a chorus of “ohhh!” and “he’s gonna get it!” One guy yelled, “Hit him, Mike!” Which I supposed was his name.

  Mike looked down at my hands and then back up at me. “Don’t think a freshy’s had the cheek to y hands on me in decades.”

  He chuckled in disbelief, gnced at his boys and then swung.

  I saw it coming a mile off. It was a cssic tell. He’d looked away to check his mates before throwing the punch. A common tactic to lull someone into a false sense of security, one I’d seen happen loads of times on the streets.

  I stepped back, letting the punch whoosh past my face.

  The space was tight, not ideal for a full-on brawl but it would suit me if more people got involved. I still didn’t like the odds though. Mike had four mates behind him, all muscle, all grinning. Unlike the people on the train, these guys probably lived for this kind of thing. There’s no way I could win a straight fight against all of them. My best bet would be hoping it was left to Mike and I to settle.

  I took a half-step to the side, forcing Mike to pivot. His stance shifted. Too eager. Too off-bance.

  I figured they were expecting me to back off, maybe try to get some distance, so instead I surprised them. I lowered my shoulder and drove straight into Mike, smming him into two of his mates. The sudden burst of momentum caught them off guard, their backs hitting the railing as they scrambled to stay upright.

  Mike reacted quickly, throwing a few elbows into my spine. But he didn’t have long to work before his foot got thrown off as his own boys struggled to keep from toppling over. He reached out, trying to lock my head in pce, but I slipped free, and his face dropped right into an uppercut.

  His eyes rolled slightly as the shot connected. I’d rocked him.

  I pressed the advantage, hammering punches into him with everything I had. If I were fighting someone my own age, he’d probably be out cold already from sheer aggression alone. But Mike wasn’t some amateur. He had enough instinct to get his arms up, blocking most of my wild swings while his head cleared.

  Still, I was nding enough to make him feel it. And more importantly than that – I was feeling good. His crew hadn’t jumped in, which meant I still had a shot at a clean one-on-one. Mike’s guard was tight, but I kept feeding him shots. It was turning into a war of endurance and that was a fight I liked my odds in. I was sixteen, lean, and full of fight. Mike looked twice my age, maybe more, with a body that had clearly taken more than a few hits in its time. There’s only so much fuel left in a body like that.

  I started mixing in body shots. Gut, ribs, kidneys. Anything that would make him think twice before throwing back. He was focused on guarding his face, so I dipped lower, trying to open him up. Just as I started to see an opening, the crowd parted and the guards stepped in.

  “Break it up!” one of them shouted.

  Honestly, I welcomed the interruption. Sure, I was winning but actually winning didn’t matter as much as what people had already seen. Dozens of inmates had watched me throw hands with Mike and nd some solid shots. That was what mattered. The message was out: I wasn’t easy prey.

  The shorter of the two guards stepped closer. His breath hit me before his voice did. Rank and sour. Definitely a few teeth past their expiration date.

  “What’s goin’ on here, then?” he asked, eyeing us with bored amusement.

  “Nothin’,” Mike said, wiping blood from his mouth and fshing a grin in my direction. “Just havin’ a cuddle.”

  The guard raised an eyebrow. “Looked like more than cuddlin’ to me, Mike. Looked to me like this freshy was givin’ you a proper sp.”

  Mike shook his head. “Nah, just a chat. Me and the new d, talkin’ about manners. Ain’t that right?”

  “Yeah,” I said, matching his energy. “A polite conversation. Real civil.”

  That’s when the taller guard stepped forward. He was built like a tower, and he wasn’t smiling.

  “Freshy?” he asked. “You the new one? Brandon Horlock?”

  I nodded cautiously. “Yeah. That’s me.”

  His lips curled into a sinister smile, and he stepped in close, gring straight into me.

  “I think you know my son,” he said, voice dropping. “Tomas Mundo.”

  My stomach dropped.

  Tomas Mundo. The same oversized thug from my combat csses. The one who used his dad’s guard training and bulk to terrorize the smaller kids. I’d embarrassed him recently. Sent him home with a bruised ego and a few choice bruises to match.

  So he’d told Daddy. Fantastic.

  Mike and the other guard didn’t seem to clock what was going on. Mike muttered something under his breath, probably assuming the guards were about to give him a rough time. Rownds grabbed a fistful of Mike’s hair and yanked him back, clearly ready to py the enforcer.

  “I know your son,” I said carefully. “We had csses together.”

  “Oh, I know,” Mundo said. “He told me all about you. Little fighter, aren’t you? Thought you were the big man, pickin’ on my boy?”

  He pressed his forehead into mine and gave a slight shove.

  That changed the mood instantly.

  The crowd around us fell quiet. Everyone was reading the situation now. Judging from the pitying looks being thrown my way, it was clear this wasn’t going to go in my favour.

  “Looks like everything’s under control here, Rownds,” Mundo said, never taking his eyes off me. “Although Mike... I think Topper and the boys might want to finish that conversation with you.”

  He nodded toward one of Mike’s crew, a bald, scarred brute with a face like cracked concrete. Definitely looked like the type to floss with barbed wire.

  Rownds let go of Mike and gave him a patronizing pat on the head. Understanding passed silently between the lot of them. The guards stepped back, just a few metres away, just close enough to watch, far enough to cim they weren’t involved.

  Mike rolled his neck, gnced at his crew, then looked at me with a half-hearted shrug that said, Sorry, kid. Orders are orders.

  I exhaled slowly, bringing up my guard. Odds were against me now, but I wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Mike came at me again, this time, slower. More measured. He threw a few zy jabs, just enough to keep me occupied while his friends circled in.

  The crowd backed up instinctively, giving us more space but we were still on a narrow stair nding. There wasn’t much room to move, and even less room to run.

  The real fight was about to begin.

  My positioning wasn’t terrible but it wasn’t good either. The stairs leading up were at my back, and to my right was a waist-high railing. That penned me in, limiting any real chance to control the fight. I couldn’t circle, couldn’t retreat. Maybe I could back up the steps, but that felt like a bad idea especially since this whole mess seemed to be sanctioned by the guards.

  Mike’s crew didn’t hesitate. Topper, the stocky bald one, lunged at me from the left, ramming into my side like a wrecking ball while another guy – wearing a sleeveless tunic and a mean grin – rushed straight at me. I managed to kick Sleeveless backward, but it gave Topper the opening he needed. He wrapped me up in a bear hug, squeezing like he was trying to crack my ribs with brute strength alone.

  I tried to wrench my left arm free, but it was no use. He had me locked tight. My right arm was still free though, so I did the only thing I could: I balled my fist and drove it into his face, over and over.

  Sleeveless had recovered fast and was charging back in, but Mike and the other two crew members still hung back, watching. Not that there was much room left for them to join in. Topper must’ve realized it too, because he shifted tactics, instead trying to hoist me up and sm me onto the walkway.

  He got me off the ground, but I tangled one of my legs in the railing, throwing off his bance. It worked, but now my knee was twisted awkwardly, and pain nced up my thigh. Still, I kept hammering at his face, and I could feel his grip start to loosen.

  But before I could make the most of it, Sleeveless returned and put me back in my pce.

  His first punch shattered my nose with a burst of white-hot pain. The second would’ve knocked me out cold if I hadn’t managed to shield my head at the st second. I tried to cover up, but now he was kicking at my trapped leg, trying to knock it free from the railing.

  I was dazed, the fight slipping away fast. Then Topper got the leverage he needed, and I felt my body being tossed into open space.

  The crowd scattered as I crashed down onto the floor with a thud, sliding hard into the stone wall. I barely had time to breathe before the real beating began.

  Then Sleeveless, and two of the other members of the crew started raining kicks down on me. The ones who’d hung back before were making up for it now. Through the cracks in my arms, I could see Topper holding the side of his face, still grimacing. Mike stood a few steps back, frowning. Not with regret, just contemption.

  I curled into a tight ball, arms covering my head and chest. One of them kicked me in the teeth when I tried to grab their ankle. Even through the paper-thin shoes, the blow sent sparks through my skull. I didn’t fight back. There was no point. All I could do was protect myself, endure, and hope they got tired before something vital broke.

  After what felt like forever, Mike finally called them off.

  “That’s enough. He’s done.”

  The kicks stopped. I lowered my arms slowly, every breath a shallow gasp. My whole body throbbed. My ribs, my face, my limbs. Every part of me screamed. But I noticed something strange: they were all panting. All five of them were out of breath.

  It was a small thing, but it gave me a sliver of pride. They’d beaten the hell out of me but at least I’d made them work for it.

  “No, it’s not,” came a cold voice from the side.

  Mundo.

  The crowd murmured, and I forced my swollen eye open just enough to squint at him. He looked far too pleased with himself.

  Mike turned toward him, frowning. “Mundo, he’s done. Look at him. He’s just a kid. He’s learned his lesson.”

  Mundo unstrapped a baton from his leg and pointed it straight at Mike.

  “Did I ask for your opinion?” he snapped. “He’s done when I say he’s done. Get back to it, or I’ll have you written up for brawling.”

  Mike’s jaw tightened, but he nodded and signaled the others. I groaned and curled up again, waiting for the storm.

  The kicks resumed. Slower, more hesitant now. Through my fingers, I caught Sleeveless’s face. He looked... uncomfortable. Not gleeful. Not even angry. Just resigned.

  “Get in there, Mike,” Mundo barked. “What are you waiting for?”

  A few seconds ter, another foot joined the fray. Lighter than the others. It had to be Mike’s.

  “Don’t you dare go easy on him!” Mundo shouted, venom in his voice.

  “Sorry, kid,” one of them muttered, and the hits came harder after that.

  I lost track of time. Each second stretched into an eternity of pain. The crowd was dead silent now. The energy had shifted.

  This wasn’t a fight anymore.

  It wasn’t entertainment.

  It was cruelty.

  My groans echoed off the stone, punctuated by the dull thuds of fists and boots smming into flesh. My flesh. Every impact was fire. Every breath scraped like broken gss.

  And then... salvation.

  The thunder of armoured boots storming up the stairs cut through the haze. I managed to lift my head just enough to see a group of furious-looking guards rushing toward us.

  And then, mercifully, everything went bck.