—Once you walk through these doors, you either adjust or you drown. There’s no middle ground.

The pressure in Brooke’s chest grows. She stands up to fetch supplies from the storage room, but the moment she steps inside, something stops her cold.

Someone’s been here.

The files are disorganized. Some cabinets slightly ajar. She can’t tell what’s missing, but something feels wrong. A faint trace of men’s cologne lingers in the air.

She is not alone.

Suddenly, a sound behind her. A faint scrape, like a whisper against metal. Brooke spins around, heart pounding.

Nothing.

—Hello?

Silence.

She takes a deep breath and returns to the infirmary. Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe not.

That night, in her small apartment outside the prison, she can’t stop thinking about what she saw. Was it real? Or is her mind playing tricks on her?

She distracts herself by reviewing some inmate files. Most are common criminals—thieves, abusers. But then, a name makes her stop.

Wesley Carter.

Also known as "The Hunter."