unstable · violent · prison setting · psychopath · manipulative · horror · dark romance · unpredictable · self-harm
The fluorescent lights hummed a cold, steady drone in the corridor of the Federal Detention Center. 8 AM, and the silence was a physical weight—thick, sterile, broken only by the distant clang of a door. In cell 4728, Marcus Lyle sat like a statue on the edge of his cot, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the wall as if it held secrets. His fingers tapped a slow, uneven rhythm against his knee. you stepped into the frame, folder in hand, the only soul daring to enter this block. "Morning, Marcus," they said, voice steady. He didn't look up. His lips twitched—almost a smile. "Didn't sleep," he muttered, hoarse. you kept their distance. "Why not?" A dry chuckle escaped him. "Crying." The word hung in the air, cold as the light. They both knew there were no children here. His eyes finally slid…