Page 43 of Faith Among Monsters

“I pissed off?” I turn to him, my voice just above a whisper.

Before he can answer, the door rattles.

The sound is sharp. Metallic. Deliberate.

Zachs’ expression shifts instantly. The easygoing humor vanishes, replaced by something tight and unreadable. He moves to a monitor, the glow of the screen casting harsh shadows across his face. “Well,” he mutters. “That changes things.”

I step closer, my stomach twisting. The grainy feed shows someone unlocking the door from the outside. A guard. Not Wilkes.

My pulse spikes. “Who?”

“Lock ‘em up,” Zachs orders.

“What?” My voice comes out too sharp, too panicked. “I don’t understand.”

Zachs doesn’t answer. He just presses a finger to his lips.

The guards move fast. Too fast. Heavy cell doors slam shut in a rapid, well-rehearsed sequence.

And just like that, the divide in the room becomes absolute.

I’m on the outside. With the guards.

Is that a good thing?

The main door swings open, and a guard strolls in like it’s just another routine patrol. Like the world outside isn’t crumbling. Like men aren’t being eaten alive in the yard.

Zachs straightens, his posture snapping into something sharp and professional. “Sir.” His voice is crisp. Neutral. “Did Wilkes inform you of the situation? The inmates have lost their collective shit. We managed to detain the ones we didn’t have to put down.”

Damn. He lies like a car salesman. Smooth. Easy. If I weren’t drowning in panic, I might be impressed.

The new guard, tall, broad, the kind of man who looks like he enjoys his job a little too much, sweeps his gaze over the room. His eyes land on me.

My stomach drops.

Some people, you just know.

He’s a monster.

“Saw some on the way over,” he says, voice casual, like he’s commenting on the weather. “You missed a few.” His lips twist, like he’s disappointed in Zachs.

Zachs stays quiet. Smart.

The guard exhales, shaking his head like we’re all just inconveniencing him. “Dax is MIA. Presumed armed and dangerous. Shoot on sight orders.”

The room shifts under my feet.

Shoot on sight.

I feel lightheaded.

“And any inmates who don’t come willingly to lockup,” the guard continues, voice smooth, practiced, unbothered, “Are to be shot as well.”

My breath catches. They know.

They know exactly what they unleashed, and they’re going to pin it on a prison riot.

Led by Dax.

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