Ethan stared down at the broken man on the floor, his shadow looming over the blood-stained concrete. "Explain yourself before I lose my patience," said Ethan.

"They are butchers, Ethan! Cold-blooded lunatics. If they haven't come for you yet, it's not because they're afraid. They are waiting for the perfect moment to dismantle your life, piece by piece. They will burn everything you touch just to see the look on your face when you have nothing left," said the prisoner.

Ethan let out a low, predatory hum. "Let them come. I've killed 'gods' and broken 'unions.' A family of jailers doesn't keep me up at night. Now, tell me about the shadow behind them. What is Parthenon?" said Ethan.

Carter's breathing became shallow, his eyes darting toward the closed cell door as if the name itself could bring the walls down.

"I... I've never had direct contact with them. No one does. Even the Scavengers treat them like a dark religion. But I've seen the internal memos and the redacted court orders. Parthenon isn't just a group; it's an organism. They provide the funding, the tech, and the protection that keeps the Scavengers at the top of the food chain," said the prisoner.

"Every predator has a weakness. What do they want from the prisons?" said Ethan.

"People. But not just any people. They look for specific genetic markers among the inmates—mostly the ones who disappear from the records before their sentences are even up. I'll tell you everything I've seen, every file I've skimmed. Just... please, keep the guards away from me," said the prisoner.

Ethan leaned back against the cold wall, crossing his arms. "Start talking. If the information is good, you might actually get to eat a meal that isn't seasoned with Miller's spit," said Ethan.

Carter took a ragged breath and began to spill every secret he had guarded, describing a web of corruption that stretched from the mountain peaks to the deepest levels of the federal government.

"I want to know where they are. How do I find the source?" said Ethan.

"Nobody knows that, Blake! You've dealt with the Union, haven't you? Parthenon is similar, but far more secretive. They are ghosts. Everyone in the underworld knows the name, and everyone respects it, but no one has ever seen a face. Nobody would dare suggest they can take on those lunatics and live to talk about it," said the prisoner.

Ethan pushed himself off the wall, his expression unreadable. "You've been helpful, Carter. I'll make sure the 'special treatment' stops for today. But listen closely: nobody can know I was here. If I find out you've been running your mouth about our little chat, I'll come back. And next time, I won't be nearly this polite," said Ethan.

"I won't say a word! I swear!" said the prisoner.

Ethan turned and walked out of the cell, the heavy steel door clanging shut behind him. Miller was waiting just a few yards away, leaning against a pillar and tossing a set of keys in the air.

"Finished with the legal advice?" said Miller.

"For now. Take me to Vincent Halbert. I want to see how he's settling in," said Ethan.

"That little rat? He's not even in a cell right now. We had to move him to the infirmary this morning. He's covered in wounds. Unlike Carter, Vincent doesn't have a big title to protect him. The inmates made him their bitch the second he stepped through the gates. He's been passed around more than a pack of cigarettes," said Miller.

"Good. Lead the way. I want to see the damage for myself," said Ethan.

Miller chuckled and started walking toward the medical wing. "He's in a bad way, Ethan. I think he's actually praying for a quick death at this point."

They reached the infirmary, where the air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and sickness. Through a glass partition, Ethan saw a man strapped to a cot. Vincent Halbert was a broken mess of bandages and bruises, staring at the ceiling with hollow, dead eyes.

"He looks pathetic," said Ethan.

"He is. Want me to clear the room so you can say hello?" said Miller.

"Clear the room," said Ethan.

Miller nodded and barked orders at the orderlies. Within seconds, the infirmary was empty, leaving only the sound of a steady heart monitor beeping in the silence.

As the door clicked shut, Vincent's head snapped toward the sound. When his eyes landed on Ethan, his entire body convulsed with terror. He scrambled backward, his weak limbs tangling in the thin sheets until he tumbled off the cot, crashing onto the cold floor in a heap of bandages.

"E-Ethan... Blake... no... it can't be you," said the prisoner, his voice a pathetic, high-pitched whimper.

Ethan walked slowly toward him, his boots clicking rhythmically on the floor. He looked down at the shivering man with nothing but pure, unadulterated contempt.

"You look a lot different than you did in the boardroom, Vincent. Where's the pride? Where's the expensive suit?" said Ethan.

"Ethan, please! This is all a mistake! I shouldn't be here!" shouted the prisoner, his hands trembling as he tried to shield his face.

Ethan crouched down, grabbing Vincent by his hospital gown and dragging him closer until their faces were inches apart. "Let's talk about my father. Let's talk about how you funded the hit on me after you helped put him in the ground," said Ethan.

Vincent's eyes darted around frantically, his breathing coming in ragged gasps. "No! That's not true! I didn't do it! I was your father's best friend... I loved the old man! He helped me build that company from the ground up. I would never hurt a hair on his head! It was someone else... I was set up!" said the prisoner.

Ethan let out a short, hollow laugh that sounded more like a growl. He didn't say a word, simply staring at Vincent as if he were watching a bad comedy routine.

"I'm telling the truth! I swear on my life! I've always appreciated what the Blakes did for me. I'm an innocent man, Ethan! You have to believe me!" said the prisoner.

"You're a pathetic liar, Vincent. You traded your soul for a seat at the table, and now I'm here to take the table, the seat, and your life," said Ethan.

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