Tom demonstrated how to build a pallet, then left his finished piece for me to use as a reference. Much to my shame, I needed it. He flew through the demonstration so fast I barely registered what had happened.

I know, building a pallet sounds obvious and intuitive—and honestly, it mostly is—but they had to be a specific size, with an exact number of nails and supports in precisely the right places. It was frustrating because I wasn't instantly good at it. Everything I did ended up crooked or misaligned, with nails driven in the wrong spots. It was a nightmare, but eventually, I managed to cobble one together.

"There! Take a look at that beauty," I said to Tom as I straightened up, pride swelling in my chest.

"'Beauty'? That's the ugliest pallet I've ever seen," he replied with a look of disgust as he inspected my work.

Admittedly, it was rough. I'd repeatedly hammered nails in, then torn them out again when I'd gotten the placements wrong, leaving the wood splintered and scarred.

"It is a pallet though?" I asked, trying to sound confident, though it came out more like a question.

Tom sighed heavily. "Yeah, you've made a pallet. Barely. Ya lucky we don't recycle these things, cause this wood looks shot."

He gave it a tentative kick, then stepped up onto it. I held my breath, half-expecting it to collapse under him.

"Holds my weight too. So ya can move on to the next one. Try not to take two hours this time, eh?"

I let out a groan. I'd been hoping we'd move onto something else. The idea of slogging through another pallet felt daunting, even with one under my belt. Still, I psyched myself up. Experience mattered. Getting one done meant the hardest part was behind me.

Tom laughed at my groan. "The boss really wasted her breath talking about early release with you. I'm not sure I've seen anyone with less natural talent."

I grumbled under my breath and set about gathering my next set of planks and nails. His comment had triggered my competitive streak. I was determined to prove I could improve.

For the rest of the shift, I focused intently on getting better, pushing myself to be quicker and cleaner with each attempt. I didn't stop until the shift ended.

At the end of it, I'd built eight pallets. Not a record-breaking number, but the improvement was noticeable. We loaded them onto a trolley and wheeled them into the warehouse.

The logistics people there were meticulous. They checked each pallet against the original material count, ensuring every nail matched their ledger before signing off on them. Only once they were satisfied were we allowed to leave.

It was a bit of a relief for me because I'd been too engrossed in my work to think about stealing anything. Seeing how well they managed the resources told me I would need to be clever when I decided to appropriate some of their goods.

"How'd ya like your first shift then, lad?" Tom asked as we walked to the canteen.

"It wasn't too bad, I suppose," I said. "Just glad I got my assembly time down to twenty minutes. Reckon I'll be even quicker tomorrow."

Tom chuckled. "Nah, ya'll be making something else tomorrow. No point hammerin' out more pallets now that you've got the hang of it. Don't get me wrong, you'll be back on 'em someday. But for now, we're stocked up."

Strangely, I felt a mix of relief and disappointment. Part of me had wanted to keep going, if only to erase the memory of my awful first attempt. Still, I was glad there'd be some variety. Building pallets for weeks on end would probably get old fast.

We were the first of Tom's crew to reach the canteen again. After grabbing our food, Tom made a beeline for an empty table. Apparently, tables got snapped up quickly around this time, with so many shifts ending at once.

I was making my way toward him, tray balanced in my hands, when a trio of figures stepped deliberately into my path. At first, I assumed it was a mistake and moved to go around them, only to have them shift again, blocking me.

"Easy there, friend," the leader said smoothly. "You're the new guy, right?"

I nodded cautiously, glancing briefly to either side. There wasn't much room to back off without causing a scene. No choice but to play it out and hope it didn't end with another beating.

"Thought so," the leader said. "You can smell fresh meat a mile away, can't we, lads?"

The group laughed as if he'd said something hilarious. I managed a polite smile, biting back the urge to point out that we'd been within a few metres of each other earlier that same day.

The leader stuck out a hand toward me, offering a handshake.

"The name's Grian. That ugly fella to my left is Meat, and on my right, you've got Bobby Jr."

Balancing my tray awkwardly in one hand, I shook hands with Grian. Mr One Eye himself. I noted with interest that he introduced himself as Grian, not One Eye. That was good to know. I'd seen more than one person react badly when a stranger called them by a nickname they weren't actually aware they had. It was definitely something to remember going forward.

"Good to meet you," I said simply. "I'm Brandon."

"Brandon! Brilliant name. A strong name. I like that for you, Brandon."

He smiled at me like I was the most fascinating person he'd ever met, and I noticed the glint of a gold tooth when he grinned. Even without the earlier warnings from Tom and the others, I would have known this guy was someone important. You didn't keep a gold tooth in prison without being either a fighter or well-connected.

"We've been hearing stories about you already, Brandon. Isn't that right, boys?" He motioned towards his companions, who were quick to nod and agree.

"That's right, boss," said Bobby Jr., while Meat nodded so vigorously I thought his head might snap off. It took a sharp elbow from One Eye to bring him to a halt.

"Stop nodding, you idiot," he growled at Meat, who immediately froze like a scolded dog.

"Anyway," he continued, turning his unsettling smile back to me, "we've been hearing things about you and figured an introduction was overdue. I hear you're working in the workshop?"

There was a glint in his eye that made me uneasy.

"Yeah, that's right. First day today. Tom's been showing me the ropes," I replied, nodding toward where Tom sat, suddenly finding his food very interesting.

"Tom's a good one, ain't he, lads?" One Eye said, giving a mock salute toward Tom.

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"Yes, boss," Bobby Jr. said quickly, while Meat wisely kept his mouth shut this time.

"It's been good to meet you, Brandon. I think I'll be in touch once you're more settled in. Maybe we can do some business. How does that sound?"

'Business' with a man like One Eye was always a dangerous proposition. In my life, I'd learned that 'business' could mean anything, from actual trade to "I'm going to kill you for looking at me wrong."

I doubted it was the former and prayed it wasn't the latter. Still, I couldn't think of a reason he'd want me dead. At least not yet. I decided the safest route was to agree politely and hope he forgot about me.

"Yeah, that sounds good. See you soon," I said, forcing a smile and exaggeratedly shifting my body like I was eager to move away.

He stood there a moment longer than was comfortable, studying me with that same unnerving smile. Then, finally, he stepped aside and let me pass.

I won't lie, I was rattled. There was something about him that went beyond physical threat. It was an aura, a weight in the air around him that bent everything ever so slightly out of shape.

It wasn't magical. At least, I didn't think so. It was something older, something primal. A biological response, maybe. A sensation that warned you: predator. It was in the people around us. The air was quieter, heavier. People moved a little slower, kept their heads lower. They weren't openly scared, but they were wary. Ready to bolt if things went south.

As I made my way over to Tom's table, I threw a glance over my shoulder and found One Eye still watching me, his smile now a thin, amused line. I gave him a quick nod and turned back toward Tom, a bad feeling settling deep in my stomach. I didn't know how or why, but I knew: something had changed. I'd crossed a line I couldn't uncross.

"Ya okay?" Tom asked as I slumped down into my seat.

"Yeah. Not really sure what he wanted though."

"Nothing good, I imagine. That guy's a piece of work." Tom's voice was low.

"If ya want my advice, it'd be to steer clear of him as much as ya can."

It was good advice. The kind I wanted to take. But deep down, I knew it wasn't going to be that simple. One Eye didn't strike me as the kind of man who let toys walk away once he'd decided to play with them.

The rest of Tom's crew filtered in soon after. Apparently, they'd seen me talking with One Eye but had stayed wisely out of sight. They made a big show of claiming they would have "definitely stepped in" if things had turned ugly, but the way they avoided eye contact and shuffled awkwardly told me the truth. If things had gone bad, I'd have been on my own.

"I reckon he wants you to join his crew," Baldy said between mouthfuls of food.

"Imagine One Eye with the power of Warlock on his side," H joked, nudging me with an elbow.

"Yeah," Baldy said, laughing. "Warlock's magic would take him straight to the top."

"I reckon he wants you to make weapons," Ginge said suddenly.

The laughter died off quickly and everyone shared a look. It was obvious once it was said, and all the more unsettling because it made perfect sense.

I was the new guy. I was young. I had already been in trouble with the guards. One Eye probably thought I was ripe for the picking. Not that I was entirely opposed to the idea. Making weapons could be profitable. Risky as hell, but profitable.

"Fat chance of that," Tom snorted. "Should've seen him building pallets. Took him two hours to build one."

For a moment, there was silence and then the table erupted into raucous laughter.

"Two hours?!" Baldy cackled. "Are you slow or something?"

"Too right he's slow," H added, slapping the table. "Honestly, Warlock, two hours?!"

"Still an embarrassment even if he got faster by the end," Baldy said through his laughter.

"If ya want One Eye off your back, just let him know how inept ya are. He'll lose interest real quick."

"I improved!" I protested. "By the end, I was down to, like, twenty minutes!"

"Still shameful," H said, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Did the boss give you the 'take pride in your work' speech?"

"Might as well have given it to a wall for all the good it did," Baldy added.

They kept ribbing me all through the meal. If they were to be believed, I was the single worst craftsman the workshop had ever seen, and the only reason Celine hadn't thrown me back to the wolves was sheer pity. They exaggerated, of course. But I couldn't deny the truth at the core of it: my start had been rough.

Really rough.

Still, I didn't mind the teasing. Not really.It was better than them treating me like an outsider, or worse, a threat. No, this was fine. This was good. It was just another step in the game of survival.

We parted ways not long after that, as the four of them were housed in a different block to mine. From what they said, it sounded like the prison was much larger than it appeared from the outside. Each block had its own setup, its own rules, its own stories. Apparently, I was lucky that my block was considered one of the better ones. Ginge told me he'd spent his first two years in a shared cell and got into a lot more trouble than he should have because of it. Having a place to myself, miserable as it was, was a rare luxury.

It wasn't quite time for curfew yet, so the halls were still full of people socialising, lounging, and wandering. I kept my head down as I threaded through the crowds, not wanting to draw attention. There were a few who cast pointed looks my way, like they were sizing me up. Maybe it was paranoia after everything that had happened lately, but it felt like everyone wanted a piece of me. First the fight, then the run-in with One Eye. It was like I had a target painted on my back.

My cell was exactly as bleak as I had left it: grey, cold, empty. Still, it felt good to be alone. Away from the eyes. Away from the expectations. I was quietly pleased with myself for getting through the day without adding to my list of enemies. Maybe I had even found a few potential friends. That thought led inevitably to Dillon and Morgana.

I drifted toward the window and stared out at the strange, fractured sky, letting my mind wander. I wondered what they were doing. If they were safe. If they were happy. I hoped they still had the money from the train job. No word had reached me of their capture, so it was likely they were out there somewhere, building the life we had dreamed of. It was bittersweet to think about.

A long sigh slipped from my mouth. There wasn't much point dwelling on it. All I could do now was hope all of this—this sentence, this struggle—was worth it in the end.

"Looking for these?"

A voice called out from the entryway, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I turned sharply, instincts flaring. There, standing casually in the doorway, was Amir. My neighbor. The same man who had been there before the fight on my first day, the one who had watched but stayed out of it. I hadn't held it against him; in this place, you picked your battles carefully. He was holding something in his hands.

Strung-together vials.

A quick glance at the window confirmed it. They were the ones I had hidden outside the night before.

"Thanks. I was wondering where those had gotten to," I lied, stepping forward to claim them, knowing already that I was entering another game.

Amir flicked the vials into his palm and closed his fingers around them, making it clear he wasn't just going to hand them over.

"Uh-uh," he said smoothly. "Hold on there, my friend. You've had an eventful introduction, sure. But you're still new. And there are rules that must be followed. If they aren't…"

He trailed off, his smile turning shark-like.

"Well… then there might be trouble."

The threat wasn't exactly subtle. The real question was how much I cared.

The vials might be useful, sure, but they weren't essential. They had been more of an afterthought when I pocketed them, and I could live without them. What mattered more was Amir himself. He had seen me fight. He had a measure of what I could do. The fact that he was standing there, relaxed, confident, suggested he wasn't worried. Which meant he had accounted for my skills or had something up his sleeve. This wasn't some idiot trying to make a name for himself.

No, I could tell already Amir was calculating. I could see it in the way his eyes scanned the room, constantly assessing. In the way he stood, poised to either attack or retreat at a moment's notice.

If he had been a few steps farther into the cell, I might have risked rushing him. But he wasn't. He stayed framed perfectly in the doorway. It wasn't an accident. If this had happened earlier in the day, maybe I would have gone for it anyway. Maybe I would have let my impatience and anger get the better of me. But the memory of One Eye's unsettling attention was still fresh. The near-confrontation, the tension… it had taught me a valuable lesson. I needed to be smarter. I needed to know more about what was going on.

"And what rules would those be?" I asked, keeping my voice level, deciding—for now—to play along with his little game.

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