Adrian Kael.
73%
The smell of food mixed with sweat and rust hits me before I even see the floor. Long tables, almost entirely occupied. Each group in its place,
moving with mechanical routine.
I stand there, lost, unsure where I’m supposed to sit.
My eyes scan the room–and crash, like a thrown stone, onto his table.
The Executor’s table.
Every other table is full. I feel amused eyes on me, watching my hesitation like entertainment. I take a shaky breath, defeated, and force myself to walk to the place claimed by his power.
I sit stiffly, like the bench is made of thorns. My heart beats hard. Being here feels like invading forbidden territory, even with him locked in
solitary.
A prisoner wearing a stained apron approaches with a tray. He sets it in front of me without a word. His silence weighs heavier than an insult.
Fear or routine?
I can’t tell.
I glance around. Some men eye me from the corners of their vision–predators studying prey.
Others pretend not to see.
I try to keep my face neutral, but I can’t stop thinking that every stare holds judgment or expectation.
I look down at the tray.
My eyes widen.
Two warm rolls, eggs cooked perfectly, a red apple, and a steaming cup of coffee.
Nothing like the watery slop everyone else gets.
My stomach reacts before my mind does. Hunger overpowers pride and disgust. I eat slowly, trying to hide the relief each bite brings.
My exhausted body thanks me.
For seconds at a time, it almost feels like I’m not in hell.
But the truth doesn’t let me forget: this food isn’t mine.
It’s his.
Leftover privilege from the monster who haunts me.
174
09:25 Mon, Feb 9
Chapter 154
As I swallow the hot coffee, the question hits me how long will this last)
How long until he leaves solitary?
How long until he returns to this table, this cell… to me?
Deep down, I know the answer.
Not long.
I finish the coffee in a bittet gulp and press my hands to the table, trying control the tremor creeping back in.
I feel eyes stripping me bare, judging, laughing silently.
It wears me down.
It rots me.
M73%
I stand abruptly, not caring who notices my anxiety.
I’m not going back to the cell yet.
I need to breathe–away from these eyes.
I walk through the prison in measured steps, trying to memorize every detail. Cold walls, metal gates, guards in their posts–everything becomes part of a map I force into my mind.
I’m already thinking of routes, hinges that squeak, and shifts that leave hallways empty. Anything useful, in case I ever try to escape. But the memory strikes fast: there is no escape.
We’re on a mountaintop. The only exit is a helicopter.
I breathe sharply, tired, trying to think of something else–but of course the thought that comes back is his kiss.
Damn it.
Why do only the worst thoughts fill my head?
Damn it all.
I reach the yard and stop–the entire ground is covered in snow. The white sheet reflects the pale light, creating something almost unreal inside this iron nightmare.
I breathe deeply.
Cold air rushes into my lungs, cleaner than anything here, so unlike the stale rot of the prison.
take a few steps across the white ground, the muffled sound of my boots sinking into the snow underfoot. It’s strange but oddly calming. I crouch and, without thinking, start scooping the snow with my hands. I shape a crude little snowman, just to feel the cold texture slip through my fingers.
2/4
09:25 Mon, Feb 9 *
Chapter 154
My bands ga mun fast red and painful–but it steadies me. At least I still feel something besides fear
1 rub my fingers on my uniform to bring hack warmth when the blow hite vindent shove throes my face into the sorra lee stages my thek,
and the shock steals my breath.
I look up, fury rising.
Three prisoners.
The one who seems to lead them grins crookedly.
*Look at the Executioner’s new toy,”
Another laughs.
“Must be loving the new life, huh? Good food, guaranteed luxury, private bathroom.”
A low sound rumbles in my throat, hot and bitter.
Why the hell won’t anyone leave me alone? One bastard was already enough–now this.
I lift my head and stare the man down.
“Leave me alone. If you want that shitty life, take it.”
The laughter dies.
His face hardens.
He grabs my uniform and hauls me to my feet with force.
“Listen here, you little-”
But before he finishes, a voice cuts across the air.
“TH, back off. You know damn well he’s untouchable.”
I turn and see Rocco, one of the Executioner’s men, standing a few paces away. One glance from him is enough to demand respect.
TH grumbles, releases my uniform reluctantly, and shoves me hard. I stumble, almost falling again.
“You got lucky, trash.” He spits on the ground and walks away with the others, still grunting.
I breathe fast, chest burning. I bring my hand to my mouth to steady myself. Rocco approaches, sizing me up with his eyes.
“A piece of advice, rookie. Better stay in your cell. You could get jumped like that again. And I don’t want the boss’s toy getting hurt.”
My blood boils with hatred.
“I’m not that bastard’s toy.”
3/4
09:25 Mon, Feb 9 GO
Chapter 154
He gives a short laugh.
风气73%日
“I see claws.” He smirks. “But don’t fond yourself. The boss is cruel. How do you think he runs this place? You really think he’s weak?
I force an ironic smile, breathing hard.
“I know very well he’s not weak.”
Rocco regards me with indifference, as if my words are nothing more than aw anger from someone who hasn’t accepted his fate. He shakes his
head slowly.
“No–he’s not weak. He kills when he must and never hesitates to punish Better obey him. Here you’ve got two options: follow his rules or die.
Consider yourself warned.”
He walks off at his own pace, leaving the words to ring like metal on concrete.
I’m alone in the yard. The snowman I’d made lies ruined where the shove sent it–a shapeless mass on the ground. I press my frozen hands to my face and close my eyes. The relief I’d felt coming out here has curdled into weight and rage.
I pace with my fists clenched, each step pushing the fury deeper until it burns my stomach.
Rocco’s line-“He kills when he must“-nails itself into my head like a spike.
I hate that man with a fearsome intensity that scares me.
If I had power, I’d make him bleed with my own hands.
I imagine his blood on the floor, the surprise on his face, and the raw justice rising in my throat.
But I can’t. I can only think. I can only swallow this hatred and pretend.
The yard pulls me out of those thoughts. Small groups of younger inmates press themselves against bigger prisoners–kisses here, forced
embraces there.
Same pattern: the weak becoming someone else’s toy.
It turns my stomach. It’s not just the Executioner – it’s the whole system feeding monsters who think they own other people’s lives.
I stand and watch.
Each scene cuts me like a blade.
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The author really writes great and fasinating stories!
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
