A female officer in a blue uniform scans a clipboard behind bulletproof glass.

—Brooke Sullivan —she replies, clearing her throat.

The woman barely nods and presses a button. A loud buzz fills the air as a set of red-barred gates slowly slide open, revealing an even darker hallway. A shiver crawls down Brooke’s spine.

—Move forward.

Each step echoes against the polished floor. Her thick heels sound too loud.

—Next time, no heels —the guard mutters without turning around.

Brooke swallows hard. She hasn’t even started her first day, and she already feels like she’s made a mistake.

At the end of the hallway, a woman with a hardened expression and short gray hair waits for her.

—Dorothy Kuntz —she introduces herself without a smile—. I assume you’re the new one.

Brooke nods and follows Dorothy as she shows her the infirmary. It’s a small, cold space, furnished with plastic chairs and a tiny desk.

—This is where you’ll see the inmates. No personal information, no familiarity —Dorothy warns—. And above all, don’t be fooled. Some of them are just after drugs.