Chapter 6 To Sign or Not to Sign

"Alexander Thorne." The guard read out the name.

Sarah had never heard it before. But the moment those words were spoken, several guards who had been talking nearby immediately fell silent. A few who were closer even stepped back instinctively, their eyes wary, as if avoiding something dangerous.

Sarah's breath caught. Her whole body felt like it had been plunged into ice water—bone‑chilling cold spreading through her. The unease that had been gnawing at her turned into uncontrollable panic.

The guard ignored her state. He looked down at the file, his tone as flat as a verdict.

"He's twenty‑one years old. The only son of Asteria's underground gang leader, and first in line to inherit the Thorne family."

He turned a page. His voice grew even more rigid.

"Charges include severe bodily harm, participation in gang fights, and suspected involvement in multiple first‑degree murders."

"Remember this clearly. He's someone even we don't want to mess with in this maximum security prison. In here, he is the rule."

The guard pulled an archived photo from the file and held it in front of Sarah.

The moment her eyes landed on the image, horror swept through her.

It was a surveillance screenshot. The scene was dim, but clear enough to see Alexander's appearance. Tall, broad‑shouldered. His stance alone radiated a suffocating violence. In the image, he was pinning another inmate to the ground with his bare hands, beating him. The man's head was already gushing blood. He lay collapsed, unable to fight back.

Alexander's eyes showed nothing—no emotion, no mercy, no hesitation. He looked as if he were crushing an insect.

Sarah covered her mouth, her eyes reddening. She took two steps back. Her mind had only one thought: escape.

She wanted to quit this absurd project. She wanted to leave this prison immediately.

But through tear‑blurred eyes, she saw only armed guards, towering walls, and barbed wire crackling with high voltage. Once inside, there was no easy way out.

If she withdrew midway, she wouldn't get a penny. The fifty thousand dollars would vanish. Her dream of Silverpeak College would shatter. What awaited her was being forced back into that van, sent to that remote town, to face Percy's belt again.

Ahead stood a gang thug who could kill her at any moment. Behind her waited an alcoholic uncle who could torture her to death. Sarah was trapped between two nightmares, with no escape left.

Seeing her on the verge of collapse, the guard closed the file. His tone softened slightly, though it remained objective.

"Listen, Five-One." He tapped the table lightly. "Alexander volunteered for this rehabilitation program. He always acts with clear goals. The psychological reports you submit are his bargaining chips for sentence reduction and early release."

He looked directly into her eyes.

"You are his only means to that end. Alexander is calculating and thorough. He won't do something stupid that destroys his own bargaining chip."

He paused, then continued.

"For the first twenty‑four hours after you move in, surveillance in the cell will be fully operational. All footage will be archived. After that, some cameras will be turned off at night, but personnel will patrol the corridors continuously. There's an emergency alarm at the head of the bed. Nighttime security won't be lax."

"During yard time and cafeteria meals, you can meet with Number Fifty, your companion."

"One more thing. You have half a day each week to write your psychological counseling reports. The content will directly affect his final evaluation."

The guard placed the file heavily on the table. "That's your only buffer. Your only self‑protection."

These words barely steadied Sarah's racing mind, but they couldn't dispel the fear that had seeped into her bones.

She looked past the guards toward Claire in the distance. Claire was watching her with concern, her usually bold eyes now filled with unease. Neither spoke, but both understood the panic in the other's gaze.

The guard's warnings, the photo of Alexander's cold brutality, his identity as a gang heir—all of it circled in Sarah's mind like a nightmare.

She hesitated to pick up the agreement. Just thinking about sharing a cell with this thug, spending nights with him, filled her with terror. Something could happen to her. Any day.

But she didn't dare back down. The fifty thousand dollars was her only hope. If she gave up, she'd be trapped forever in that desperate town.

What made her heart even colder was that this project had been suspicious from the start. She couldn't help but wonder: if she broke down and backed out now, would the people who had forcibly inserted her into the list make her quietly disappear to cover their tracks?

Percy's violence, her dream university, the dangerous inmate, plus this unfathomable conspiracy—multiple pressures intertwined, pushing her to the breaking point.

Just then, a staff member in a black suit walked over expressionlessly. He held a black pen and a final confirmation agreement, which he handed directly to Sarah.

The white paper glared under the lights. The dense print looked like a death warrant.

Sarah bit her pale lower lip, her eyes red. She reached out, but her fingertips trembled so violently that she couldn't grasp the pen. Her gaze stayed fixed on the signature line. She couldn't bring herself to write.

Signing meant putting her life in Alexander's hands, betting her future on an unknown outcome. Refusing to sign meant her dreams would shatter. She would return to her old hell—and might not even survive the night.

Despair and a faint hope pulled at each other inside her. She regretted walking so recklessly into this carefully laid trap, all to escape domestic violence and scrape together tuition. She had thought this was a path to redemption, only to discover that she had fallen into another, even more terrifying cage.

She had always been timid. Years of abuse had trained her to comply. Now, cowardice swelled inside her, and fear wrapped around her, leaving no room to breathe.

The electronic clock on the wall ticked faintly.

The staff member frowned. "Five-One, time's running out. Sign, or not?"