Chater 10

my alarm jolts me awake, tearing me out of a dream I can't remember. I groan, grabbing the pillow and pressing it over my ears as if I could block out reality. It doesn't work. I sigh, tossing the pillow aside, and force myself to sit up.

After a quick shower, I pick out something casual to wear and pack my uniform into my bag. As much as I hate carrying it around, I refuse to leave the house dressed like that.

The smell of coffee fills the air, grounding me just enough to keep my mind from spiraling. I set the steaming mug down on the table and freeze as my eyes land on the folded note lying there.

Stay quiet. Don't ask questions.

I've replayed those words over and over since last night, but I still can't make sense of them. My stomach twists.

Who could've left it? And worse how do they know where I live?

I reach for the note, my fingers brushing its edge. Should I tell someone? Daniels, maybe? Or even Gloria?

But what would I even say? "Hey, someone left me a creepy note. I have no idea why or who, but it's really freaking me out"?

I exhale sharply, rubbing my temples. No. I can't let myself get caught up in this. Not now. I have enough to deal with already.

I drain the last of my coffee, stuff the note into the front pocket of my bag, and grab my coat. It's time to go.

The streets are quieter than usual, the city seemingly lulled by the promise of snow. My hands grip the steering wheel, but my mind keeps drifting back to the note.

As I pull up to a red light, I glance at my phone resting on the passenger seat. A pang of guilt hits me I still haven't let Mom know what time I'll be over tonight.

I grab the phone, quickly typing out a message:"I'll be there around 8:00 PM. Love you."

I hit send just as the light turns green, and I refocus on the road. The closer I get to the prison, the more that familiar tension creeps into my chest. The looming gates appear in the distance, stark and uninviting against the gray sky.

I park in the lot, switching off the engine but not moving right away. My fingers drum against the steering wheel as I take a deep breath. Another day, I think to myself, forcing a sense of normalcy I don't quite feel.

With one last glance at my phone, I grab my bag, sling it over my shoulder, and step out of the car. It's time to get to work.

By the time I change into my uniform and head toward Unit 7, it's already 8:00 AM. Breakfast should be long over, and most of the inmates are either pacing their cells or lying back on their bunks, counting down the hours.

I make my way down the narrow corridor, the faint clinking of keys and muffled conversations filling the space. Cell 286 comes into view Luigi's. I approach with my usual routine

"Good morning, Mangione. Time for the usual check," I call out, keeping my voice firm but not harsh.

No response.

I frown, stepping closer to the little window in the middle of the door. From where I stand, I can see him seated at the tiny metal desk bolted to the wall, his back turned to me. He's completely still, staring out of the small window. Snowflakes drift down in the distance, faint and soft against the gray sky.

"Luigi?" I try again, louder this time.

Nothing.

A flicker of frustration rises in my chest. I shift my weight, gripping the keys at my side. Seriously?

I knock lightly on the door. "Mangione, don't make me repeat myself."

Still nothing.

Alright, enough of this. With a sigh, I unlock the door and step inside. The cold air feels sharper here, almost biting against my skin.

"Hey!" I say as I close the door behind me, my tone sharper now.

He doesn't flinch, doesn't even turn his head. His hands are resting on the edge of the desk, fingers lightly tapping as if in rhythm to some thought playing in his head.

I take a step closer. "Luigi, what's going on?"

Finally, he stirs, his head tilting slightly to the side as though acknowledging my presence but still, he doesn't look at me.

"It's snowing," he says quietly, his voice lower than usual.

I blink, caught off guard by his tone. There's something distant about it, like he's a million miles away.

"Yeah, I can see that. What's wrong?" I ask, softer now

As he turns to face me, I can't help but notice the swelling on his cheek, the dark bruise creeping up the side of his eye. My heart sinks, and I feel a rush of concern, followed by frustration. I know that bruise wasn't there before. Something happened.

"Luigi," I call, my voice trembling slightly, a mix of worry and anger. He doesn't look at me right away. Instead, he turns slowly back toward the window, his gaze fixed on the falling snow outside. It's like he's lost in it, his mind somewhere far away, somewhere I can't reach.

"Luigi, what happened?" I ask again, stepping closer, my eyes searching for answers.

He doesn't respond at first. His posture is stiff, but there's something about the way he holds himself that tells me he's not willing to talk about it, not yet. His eyes stay locked on the window, almost like he's in a trance, just watching the snowflakes drift slowly to the ground.

I reach out, my hand hovering near his shoulder, unsure if I should touch him. He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he does, but it doesn't matter. He keeps staring outside, his expression unreadable.

"You're not fine," I say softly, my voice steady despite the confusion bubbling up inside me. "Who did this to you?"

He doesn't flinch, doesn't even look at me. He just keeps his focus on the window, as if the outside world is the only thing that can make sense of whatever is going on inside him.

"Nothing happened," he mutters, but I can see the lie in his eyes. It's not just the bruises. It's something more.

"Get up, now," I command, my voice firm. He doesn't argue, which only confirms my suspicions. Slowly, he stands, wincing slightly as he moves, but he doesn't make a sound. I move toward the cuffs, the cold metal clicking into place as I secure them around his wrists.

We walk out of the cell, and as we pass through the dimly lit hallway, the silence between us grows heavy. His eyes remain fixed ahead, almost as if he's trying to block everything else out. I can feel the tension radiating from him, but I don't break the silence. Not yet.

When we finally reach the infirmary, I take a deep breath and check the time. It's 8:20AM. My stomach sinks when I see the note on the door "Nurse arrives at 10:00 AM." A wave of frustration washes over me.

I sigh, my hand resting on the door handle as I glance at Luigi. He doesn't seem to care about the wait;

"Alright," I mutter to myself, my hand gripping the door handle a little tighter. I open the door anyway, ignoring the note. "We're waiting inside."

Luigi doesn't react. He just steps inside, following me, and I lock the door behind us. It's not ideal, but I'm done waiting. I can't just leave him standing there. He needs to be seen now.

I guide him to one of the beds, still unable to shake the unease gnawing at me.

"Sit," I say curtly, gesturing to the cot in the corner.

Luigi obeys without a word, lowering himself onto the edge of the bed. I head straight for the cabinet, finding the first aid kit and flipping it open on the counter.

"Let me guess," I start, rummaging through the supplies. "You mouthed off to someone you shouldn't have."

From behind me, he lets out a soft chuckle. "Something like that."

I turn to look at him, narrowing my eyes. "That's it? 'Something like that'? You're not going to tell me what happened?"

He shrugs, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Does it matter? I made someone angry. End of story."

I exhale sharply through my nose, biting back my frustration as I grab a cotton pad and antiseptic. "It matters to me," I mutter under my breath, walking over to him.

When I'm close enough, I tilt his chin gently to examine the bruise. The swelling on his cheekbone is worse than I thought, purple spreading toward the corner of his eye.

"This is bad," I murmur.

He doesn't respond, just watches me silently as I start to clean the area. He winces slightly when I dab the antiseptic over the swollen skin.

"So, you're just going to keep quiet?" I ask, trying to keep my tone neutral. "Not going to defend yourself?"

"I don't see the point," he says flatly, his eyes fixed on mine.

I stop for a moment, the cotton pad hovering over his skin. "The point is, if you don't speak up, they'll keep doing it."

"They'll keep doing it either way," he says, his voice calm, almost resigned.

I pull back, my jaw tightening. "You're impossible."

"And you're stubborn," he shoots back with a faint smirk.

I drop the cotton pad into the small trash bin and step away, heading back to the counter to put the kit away. he speaks again.

"Why do you care so much, Officer?" he asks, his tone sharper this time, almost cold. "This isn't your fight."

I freeze, my hand hovering over the kit. Slowly, I turn to face him. "Excuse me?"

He doesn't flinch under my glare, leaning back slightly on the cot. "I'm saying, maybe you should stop acting like you're some kind of savior. People like you don't last long here."

My chest tightens, anger bubbling just under the surface. "People like me?" I take a step closer, crossing my arms.

"You know what I mean." His gaze is steady, but there's something guarded in his expression. "You're new. You still think you can fix things. But this place doesn't change. The system doesn't change."

For a moment, I'm too stunned to respond. I stare at him, my hands tightening into fists at my sides.

"Don't treat me like I'm naive," I say, my voice low but firm. "You don't know anything about me."

He tilts his head slightly, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Maybe not. But I know enough to see you're wasting your energy."

The words hit harder than they should, and I hate that they do. I turn back to the counter

"You're wrong," I mutter, not looking at him.

When I finally turn around, he's still sitting on the cot, watching me with an expression I can't quite place.

"Am I?" he asks softly.

The room feels heavier now, the silence stretching between us. I step closer again, my frustration still simmering beneath the surface. "Why are you doing this?" I ask, my voice quieter now.

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," I say, holding his gaze.

He sits up straighter, his cuffed hands resting on his lap. "I'm not pushing you away."

"You are," I insist, my voice firmer.

He exhales, leaning back slightly.

The room feels heavy as I turn away from him, searching for something in the cabinet. His words about wasting my energy churn in my head, igniting a fire I try to push down.

As I give up and just shove the kit back into the cabinet, his voice cuts through the silence, cool and sharp:"You really think you're making a difference here, don't you?"

I whirl around, my frustration bubbling over. "You really think I'm going to stand here and let you talk to me like that?"

He leans forward "I'm just telling you the truth. You can clean me up all you want, Officer, but at the end of the day, this place, this system, it doesn't give a damn about people like me. Or you."

"People like me?" I snap, taking a step closer to him.

"Yeah," he says, his gaze steady and unflinching. "You're in over your head, trying to play the hero. Thinking you can fix things. But this place will chew you up and spit you out like it's done to everyone else who thought they could handle it."

I stare at him, my fists clenched at my sides. His words cut deeper than I'd like to admit. "You don't know me," I say through gritted teeth.

"I know enough," he replies, his tone indifferent, like he couldn't care less whether I agreed with him or not.

I take a slow, deep breath, willing myself to stay calm. "You love talking, don't you? All these little digs and jabs..."

A smirk tugs at the corner of his bruised lip. "Well, it seems to be working."

I look at him in the eye " if you really think like this than you must be really not guilty or the isolation is fucking your head up."

Before he can fire back, the sharp crackle of my radio breaks the tension.

"Officer Vega, report," Daniels' voice comes through loud and clear.

I let out a frustrated sigh, my jaw tightening. Without another word, I turn to Luigi, pointing toward the door. "Get up," I snap.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with my tone, but he stands up anyway. "Guess playtime's over," he mutters under his breath.

"Move," I say, stepping closer to him and grabbing his cuffed arm.

As I guide him out of the infirmary, I don't miss the faint smirk lingering on his face. It fuels the fire in my chest, but I push it down. We walk in silence, but his words from earlier echo in my head the entire way back to his cell.

When I lock Luigi's door, I don't even glance back. The heavy clang echoes down the hallway as I walk away, my fists clenched at my sides. Why does he have to act like that? I replay his cold tone, his dismissive words. It's infuriating. He's the one with a bruised face, the one who got hurt, and somehow I'm the one left feeling like I've done something wrong. Fine. He wants to shut me out? Let him. It's not my problem.

By the time I reach Daniels' office, my frustration has bubbled into anger. I knock on the door, and her voice calls out, "Come in."

I push the door open and step inside. Daniels is at her desk, her hands moving over the keyboard. She looks up as I enter. "Vega," she says, her tone neutral but with an edge of curiosity. "What were you doing in the infirmary with Mangione?"

I close the door behind me, standing at attention. "He had a visible injury, ma'am," I say. "A bruise on his face and swelling near his eye. I thought it needed attention."

Daniels tilts her head slightly, her sharp eyes locking on mine. "And you didn't think to report it to me first?"

"It was a judgment call," I say, keeping my voice even. "The nurse wasn't in yet, so I handled it myself."

Daniels sighs, leaning back in her chair. "Vega, you know the protocol. Injuries like that, especially on an inmate like Mangione, need to be reported immediately. I don't want to hear about it after the fact. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," I reply, my jaw tight.

Her gaze sharpens. "Do you know how he got hurt?"

I hesitate. My mind flashes to Roberts, but I don't have proof just suspicion. "No, ma'am," I say carefully. "He didn't tell me."

Daniels narrows her eyes. "He didn't tell you, or you didn't ask?"

"I asked," I say, forcing the words out. "He said he made someone angry."

Daniels leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. "Vega, this isn't a playground. It's a high-profile prison, and Mangione is one of our most watched inmates. If something happens to him, it's on all of us. Next time, you come to me immediately. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," I say, holding her gaze.

She studies me for a long moment, then exhales. "Good. Now, before you go—there's something you should know."

I pause, my hand on the doorframe. Daniels straightens in her chair, her tone growing serious. "Mangione is being moved out of isolation after Christmas."

My stomach twists. "Moved? Where?"

"still unit 7 and still high-security, but outside of isolation. It's where we house inmates who are... significant, but not in immediate danger. He'll be under constant watch, but the environment is less restrictive."

I blink, trying to process her words. "Why the move?"

Daniels shrugs, her tone matter-of-fact. "Orders from above. They want to see how he interacts with others, I assume. Maybe they think it'll help his case or at least give them more to work with. Whatever the reason, it's happening. So be prepared."

I nod, though my mind is racing. "Understood."

Daniels dismisses me with a wave, her attention already shifting back to her computer. I leave the office, my footsteps heavy against the tile.

As I walk through the corridors, my thoughts are a jumbled mess. At least he won't be locked in that tiny room anymore, staring out that small window like a ghost of himself.

But I can't ignore the pit in my stomach.