Page 9 of Faith Among Monsters

“And the staff wing?” I ask, standing straight, adjusting the files and my purse.

Sinclair’s sharp gaze flicks over me, like he’s assessing me all over again, or perhaps for the first time. Whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t seem impressed. “Out the way you came. Left. Third building.”

He doesn’t bother to watch me leave. His attention shifts back to the papers spread across his desk, like I’m already an afterthought.

I hesitate for the briefest moment, letting his dismissal settle. I’m no threat to him. Or so he thinks.

Shifting the files in my arms, I reach for the door and step into the hallway.

The change in the air is immediate. The heavy smell of smoke fades, but the tension it left behind lingers, coiled tight around my chest. For the first time since stepping into Sinclair’s office, I take a breath that feels like mine.

It’s going to be a long night. I’ll read every word he’s granted me access to. And tomorrow, I’ll start talking to the inmates. Starting with Dax.

My heels click against the floor, the sound sharp as I make my way down the hallway. The echo carries farther than it should, and with every step, I feel the weight of eyes following me.

The guards I pass don’t speak, but they don’t need to. Their attention clings to me, heavy and sharp, assessing and unkind.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzz faintly, flickering in places. I keep my head high, my grip on the files tightening as I pass another pair of guards leaning against the wall. One of themstraightens, his gaze raking over me like he’s daring me to look back.

I don’t.

I’ve been in a lot of prisons. I’ve dealt with all kinds of people, killers, liars, manipulators. But the guards here have an edge sharper than most.

They’d have to, I suppose, to survive this place.

My heart beats faster as I reach the entrance, the sunlight glaring through the glass doors ahead. I step through the door, the files still clutched in my arms, a flicker of resolve growing in the pit of my stomach.

Whatever Sinclair’s hiding, I’ll find it.

One of the guards at the doors steps into my path. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a lazy grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Carry your books, princess?” he drawls, nodding toward the files in my arms.

I tighten my grip on them, forcing myself to stay calm. “I can manage,” I say evenly, stepping to the side to move around him.

He shifts with me, blocking my path again.

Are we really doing this on day one?

I square my shoulders, meeting his eyes. They’re sharp, glinting with amusement, but there’s something else there, too. A challenge. He’s testing me.

“That’ll be enough,” a deep voice rumbles behind me.

The relief that floods through me is instant and alarming, and I don’t need to turn to know who it is.

Dax.

The guard’s grin falters, his posture stiffening as he looks over my shoulder. For a moment, he doesn’t move, as if debating whether to push his luck further.

He doesn’t. With a slight shrug and a muttered, “Just being polite,” he steps aside, clearing the way.

I exhale quietly, adjusting the files in my arms as I step forward without another word.

But the weight of Dax’s presence lingers, and the relief that flickered through me is replaced by something else.

Frustration.

Because in this place, power is measured by violence and, while I shouldn’t need someone like Dax to have my back.

Here I do.

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