Chapter 8 Who Did This?

"Stop!"

A sharp, cold shout suddenly echoed through the hall.

The blonde girl's palm froze less than two inches from Sarah's cheek, the breeze from her raised hand brushing the stray hair on Sarah's forehead.

A burly prison guard strode forward, his baton and keys clanging against each other with each step, making crisp sounds. His face, pale from years without sunlight, was grim, his expression full of warning.

"Want to end up in solitary on your first day?" The guard's voice was low and harsh, leaving no room for negotiation.

The blonde girl trembled, her arrogance instantly deflating by half.

Reluctantly, she lowered her hand and, under the guard's watchful eye, retreated with her companions through gritted teeth.

Before leaving, she turned to look at Sarah, her eyes churning with malice and contempt. She silently mouthed the words, "You're dead, poor girl."

Sarah's long-tensed nerves suddenly relaxed, her body swaying slightly from the loss of strength. Her back was already soaked with cold sweat.

Humiliation washed over her as she bit her lower lip hard, her heart pounding violently.

"Sarah!"

Claire rushed forward and gripped her hand tightly.

Claire's eyes were full of concern, barely concealing her fear. "Are you okay? That woman... once we get out of here, I won't let her off easy."

"I'm fine, Claire." Sarah tried to steady her voice, but her trembling fingertips betrayed her true state.

In this cold, forbidding prison hall, the two quietly held each other's hands. This was the only warmth Sarah could feel in this oppressive place.

"Listen, no matter which block we're assigned to, we have to stay alive first."

Claire lowered her voice, her expression more serious than ever.

"During yard time, on the way to the cafeteria, even just making eye contact with others—we need to confirm each other is safe, understand?"

Sarah nodded and squeezed Claire's hand back firmly.

"Number 50, Block C, follow me." The guard in charge of Block C called out from a distance.

Claire had to let go. At the last moment before being led away, she looked back at Sarah, her eyes full of reluctance.

Sarah forced a calm expression and watched Claire's small figure disappear behind the iron door leading to Block C.

The crowd in the hall quickly dispersed, the remaining dozens of volunteers led away one by one by guards.

The vast space fell into complete silence, with only the overhead fluorescent lights buzzing with electricity.

"Number 51, Sarah."

A stern-faced female guard walked up to her.

She wore a crisp black uniform, her hair neatly pinned back, her manner rigid and indifferent. Without looking at Sarah's face, she simply raised her hand expressionlessly, gesturing for her to follow.

Sarah lowered her head and quietly followed behind the female guard.

They passed through a long, cold gray corridor. The walls were mottled and old, covered with rust and dried stains. At regular intervals, high-pressure surveillance cameras were mounted on the walls, their red indicator lights blinking constantly.

At the end of the corridor was a heavy electronically controlled iron door, marked with a large letter A.

This was Block A of Asteria Maximum Security Prison, specifically for holding serious offenders.

The moment she stepped into the main building, a heavy sense of oppression hit her, almost suffocating. The air was thick with the strong smell of disinfectant, cheap tobacco, and the violent aura unique to criminals.

"Bang! Bang!"

Some prisoner was slamming against their cell door, the dull thuds echoing continuously. From deep within the distant cells came the faint sound of inmates roaring and the harsh scraping of metal chains dragging across the floor.

With each step Sarah took, her legs felt as heavy as if filled with lead.

Her thoughts were chaotic—worrying about Claire being bullied in Block C, fearing that the prisoner Nelson might harm Claire. Finally, all her thoughts settled on a photograph.

The person in the photo was Alexander, a gang heir.

Could she really survive around this man?

"Get in."

The female guard pushed open a windowless sealed room.

Inside, the light was harsh and pale white. The room contained only a simple bench and a recorder, nothing else.

"Strip." The female guard's voice was ice-cold.

Sarah froze in place. She almost doubted she'd heard wrong, staring blankly at the guard.

"Don't you understand? This is the rule here."

The female guard took out a pair of rubber gloves and put them on efficiently.

"Everyone has to undergo a full body inspection. After the inspection, you'll go to the bathroom next door to clean up, then change into the prison uniform. After that, I'll take you to meet your assigned prisoner."

The guard paused briefly, a flicker of complex emotion crossing her eyes, her tone meaningful. "Good luck, girl. This is the best single cell in Block A, but it also hides the greatest danger."

The door clicked shut, locked from the inside.

Sarah stood in the small room, feeling the surrounding walls constantly pressing inward. Having grown up in a conservative environment and being naturally timid, this rule of completely losing privacy and being examined like an object plunged her into deep shame.

She bit her lip, tears blurring her vision. Before the prison's rules, she had no room to resist.

Trembling, she raised her hands and slowly unbuttoned her shirt, then removed her pants.

The female guard's gaze was professional and calm, but this emotionless scrutiny made Sarah feel even more degraded. Under the harsh white light, her body was examined and recorded inch by inch. Overwhelming embarrassment swept through her, and she instinctively curled up, trying to cover herself.

All her clothes fell away, Sarah's thin, pale body exposed to the cold air.

The previously expressionless female guard's movements suddenly stopped as her gaze swept over Sarah's back and waist.

Her fair skin was covered with crisscrossing marks. There were faded old bruises as well as several dark brown raised scars—marks left by repeated belt whippings.

Under the light, these scars were particularly glaring.

The female guard frowned deeply, her hand holding the recording pen stopping.

"How did you get these injuries?"

Her tone became suddenly serious, her eyes fixed on the purple bruise on Sarah's waist that hadn't yet faded. "Did this happen before you came in? Who hurt you?"

Sarah's heart sank sharply, fear instantly gripping her throat.

She knew very well what was at stake. Once the guard discovered she'd been suffering long-term domestic abuse, they would determine her psychological state didn't meet the program requirements, and she'd be sent away immediately.

Return to that small town? Return to that hell filled with alcohol and violence?

No, she absolutely couldn't go back. That life was more terrifying than death.

"I... I..." Sarah stammered incoherently, her voice trembling, her mind racing.

She had to fabricate a lie to get through this—it was her only hope.

The female guard quietly watched her evasive, panicked eyes, carefully discerning any flaws in her words.

Sarah stood frozen in place. Her fate now hung entirely on this lie.