Page 71 of Imprisoned

I stand slowly, my fingers trailing across my desk. “And what exactly do you think you have there, Thompson?”

“Enough to end your career. Maybe even get you some jail time.” His smirk makes my skin crawl. “Unless we can come to an arrangement.”

A dark laugh escapes my lips, surprising us both. “Oh, Thompson. You really should have done your homework.” I pull out my own phone, bringing up screenshots of bank transfers and text messages. “See, I’ve been watching too. Those payments from Marcus? The contraband you’ve been smuggling? The ‘arrangements’ you’ve made with other inmates?”

His face pales. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” I step closer, my voice dropping. “I have copies stored in multiple locations. If anything happens to me, or if this footage somehow leaks, everything I have goes straight toInternal Affairs. And trust me, they’ll be very interested in your extracurricular activities.”

Thompson’s jaw clenches. “You think you’re so clever?—”

“I know I am.” I cut him off, feeling the power surge through me. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’ll delete that footage, and we’ll forget this conversation happened. In return, I’ll keep your dirty little secrets. Do we understand each other?”

He glares at me for a long moment before nodding stiffly.

“Good. Now get out of my office.”

My heart thunders as I close the door behind Thompson. I slide down against it, my heart thundering in my chest. That was too close. The confrontation replays in my mind - his smug face, the way he thought he had me cornered. But something’s changed in me these past weeks. The old Willow would have crumbled, begged, maybe even given in to his demands.

I push myself up and head to my computer. We’re breaking out tomorrow, and I can’t leave any loose ends. My fingers fly across the keyboard as I access the prison’s cloud storage, where hundreds of hours of security footage are stored.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter, scanning through the timestamps. The system keeps footage for thirty days before automatically deleting it.

I scan through hours of security footage, my fingers flying across the keyboard. The clock on my desk reads eleven forty-seven p.m, but I can’t stop now. Not when there’s still evidence of what Axel and I have done.

Camera twelve, hallway B—there. My breath hitches when I see myself slip into solitary confinement three nights ago and sometime after I leave.

Delete.

Gone.

My chest tightens as I find another clip from outside my office. The guard’s face appears as he pretends to check therestraints, leaving them loose enough for what comes next. My cheeks flush at the memory, but I force myself to focus.

Delete.

“Come on, come on,” I mutter, scrolling through more footage. Camera three catches me passing a note during group therapy.

Delete.

Camera seven shows our lingering eye contact in the yard.

Delete.

The external drive whirs as I transfer backup copies, just in case. I can’t leave any traces. I type in commands to wipe the originals from the system.

A sound in the hallway makes me freeze. Footsteps? No, just the building settling. Still, sweat beads on my forehead as I continue my work.

Camera fifteen, medical wing, shows footage of me visiting Axel after the fight with Marcus.

Delete.

I check my watch again. Eleven fifty-three p.m. Time’s slipping away too fast. More evidence could still be hidden in the archives, but I can’t risk staying much longer. The night guard will do his rounds soon.

My stomach is in knots as I initiate the final wipe sequence. The progress bar crawls across the screen:

87%... 92%... 98%...

Complete.

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