I didn't move right away. Just stood there over them heart pounding, fists still twitching, my breathing ragged. That old surge… the one Azazel taught me to channel instead of fear? Yeah. It was back.
Footsteps echoed from down the hall.
Two guards turned the corner—lazy, laughing—until they saw the scene.
Their smirks dropped.
"What the hell happened here?" one of them barked.
"Self-defense," I muttered.
They glanced at the two groaning bodies, then at me—barefoot, bruised, unflinching.
The second guard narrowed his eyes. "You're the hacker, right? The one from Sector Seven?"
I didn't answer.
He gave a low whistle. "Guess you're not just brains, huh."
They didn't cuff me. They didn't drag me off. They just told me to "get back to your cell" and stepped aside, like they didn't want the smoke.
I walked past them slowly, the pain in my ribs blooming, but I kept my head high. As I passed, I caught a few whispers from other inmates watching through the narrow door slits.
