Vanessa held the old woman’s head beneath the gray, frothing water for what felt like an eternity, her knuckles white with malice. The courtyard was dead silent, the spectators holding their breath in terrified anticipation of a tragedy. But just as Margaret’s struggles began to weaken, a shadow fell across the concrete, accompanied by the heavy, rhythmic tap of polished leather boots.
“Release her. Right now,” a deep, commanding voice echoed across the yard.
It was Captain Vance, the head of prison security—a man known for his icy detachment and total indifference to inmate disputes. Beside him stood the Warden himself, a man who rarely stepped foot into the general yard.
Vanessa sneered, reluctantly pulling Margaret up by her hair and shoving her backward onto the wet floorboards. Margaret coughed violently, gasping for air, her gray hair drenched in soapy water.
“Mind your own business, Captain,” Vanessa spat, wiping her wet hands on her pants. “Just teaching the old lady how things work around here.”
Captain Vance didn’t look at Vanessa. Instead, he quickly knelt on the wet ground beside Margaret, his cold demeanor instantly melting into a look of profound, terrified respect. He pulled a clean linen handkerchief from his uniform jacket and gently wiped the dirty foam from the old woman’s face.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” the Captain asked, his voice trembling—a sound no inmate had ever heard from him before.
Margaret took a slow, steady breath, straightened her worn tunic, and looked up with calm, unyielding eyes. “I am fine, Thomas,” she said softly. “You don’t need to make a scene.”
To discover Margaret’s true identity, continue reading below for Part 3.
