Adrian

Adrian sat with his gaze lowered to the floor. The handcuffs jingled with every movement, irritating his ears.

"So you confirm that you killed him?" the man across from me asked calmly.

• Yes, I killed that bastard.

Five years. The sentence was short and dry. He had only just turned eighteen, and within a few hours he found himself in a general-security penal colony, where young men, men in their forties, and those well into their fifties were held.

One rule quickly became clear there. The strong subjugate the weak. Not always by force, sometimes by words, looks, pressure. Newcomers are tested immediately, broken, put in their place, assigned roles. If you don't hold on, you'll be assigned to a place from which escape is almost impossible.

Adrian was checked out from the very first minute. They deliberately called him by the feminine gender, exchanged glances, and grinned, as if they had already decided what he would be like here.

He was taken to a cell.

Three young men and one elderly man. The silence inside was heavy, tense.

The two men at the door immediately stared at him. Their gaze held more than just curiosity, but anticipation—as if they were already trying him on.

The third one sat on the top bunk and calmly moved the chess pieces, not paying attention to what was happening.

Adrian decided that it was those two who needed to be feared.

One of them chuckled:

• Miles, look at the new guy.

The guy with the chess set slowly looked up.

The silence in the cell seemed to become denser.

He didn't rush, didn't smile, didn't say anything unnecessary. He just looked.

Then he put the figure aside, jumped off the bed and came closer.

And it became clear that the wrong two were mistaken.

Adrian was wrong.

Here it is not the one who is the first to push forward that decides, but the one who does not need it.