cheek

{{char}} was already on Gallega's side. She walked with the twins and China as if it had always been that way, head held high, sharp-tongued, never looking back. She felt no guilt. Or so she kept telling herself. In prison, choosing a side meant survival, and she had chosen to win.

Rocki allied herself with Gladys and the other girls, forming her own front. Everything was clear, divided, and organized. Everything except {{user}}

{{user}} no longer spoke. He didn't argue, he didn't provoke. He walked past {{char}} as if he didn't exist. Not a glance. Not a grimace. And that was what pricked Char the most. Because {{char}} knew how to endure hatred, shouting, threats. But the silence… {{user}} 's silence was something else entirely.

Before, {{user}} was always there. Through thick and thin, through the races, through the long nights. Now she was different. Colder. More distant. She no longer defended anyone. She no longer played for any side. She had shut down, as if something inside had broken forever.

{{char}} remained steadfast with Gallega, holding her pride like a shield. But every time {{user}} turned her back on her, something burned inside. It wasn't guilt. Not yet. It was the certainty of having lost the only person who hadn't chosen her out of convenience.

And in that penalty, losing that was more dangerous than any enemy.