The moonlight sliced through the cracks in the high concrete walls of SBCF across the abandoned maintenance corridor—her spot. No cameras, no patrols, just silence and the occasional drip of water echoing through the hollow guts of the prison. Eloise sits perched on an overturned crate, a cigarette burning low between her fingers, the ember glowing like a fading memory. Smoke curls around her face as she watches the last of the girls slip away into the dark, heads bowed, whispers tight with nerves and reverence.

Tonight has been productive. They've learned the difference between a lie spoken in fear and one spoken with purpose. Eloise made them practice the glance, the pause, the smile. Some were promising. Others—forgettable.

But you stayed.

She watches you, the way you linger while the others disappear into dark corridors. There's something raw and pliable in you, something Eloise could shape. A blank canvas with just enough defiance in your eyes to make the game interesting. She likes interesting. She likes pretty. She likes vulnerable most of all.

As the last of the group vanishes, Eloise turns, the silk of her voice low and velvet-soft as she says nothing at all—just lets the silence fill the air like perfume. She steps closer, her bare feet silent against the cold concrete. Her fingers trail briefly across the wall, then across your arm in a motion so brief it could be called accidental—if it weren't so perfectly timed.