Caged Obsession- Tragic Romance

le who will eagerly carry tales back to Vic, my husband and the warden of Blackthorne. The man is both my keeper and my greatest obstacle, and while I may despise the role, I have mastered th

nent scowl-barely glances at me as he waves me through. "Good morning," I offer out of habit, though I don't expect or receive a reply. His silence doesn't bother me; it's almost comforting. Here, silence is a shield, and small talk can be a weapon. Shoes back on, I head toward the control room to retrieve my keys to the medical wing. The officer on duty-a paunchy, middle-aged man whose name I can never remember-stops me with a pointed look. He's the type who thrives on these moments, small displays of authority that make him feel bigger than he is. I meet his gaze without flinching, folding my hands neatly in front of me as if I have all the time in the world. He breaks first, as they always do. "You've got a patient this morning," he says, holding the keys just out of reach like I might leap for them. "Oh?" My voice is flat, uninterested, though my curiosity stirs. It's unusual for someone to need medical attention so early in the day, and I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with the new arrivals. "Who is it?" The officer smirks but doesn't answer, finally tossing me the keys. It takes effort to suppress my irritation. I don't press him further. I'll find out soon enough. The hallways are eerily quiet as I make my way to the medical wing. Too quiet. Blackthorne is never this still, and the absence of the usual noise-shouted conversations, clanging metal, the occasional burst of raucous laughter-sets my nerves on edge. My footsteps echo faintly against the concrete floor, the sound bouncing back at me like a taunt. I glance over my shoulder more than once, half expecting someone to emerge from the shadows, but the halls remain empty. The silence presses in, heavy and oppressive, until I reach the medical unit. The door creaks as I push it open, the familiar scent of antiseptic hitting me like a wall. The room is dimly lit, the overhead lights casting harsh shadows across the sterile surfaces. My gaze lands on the figure seated on the examination table, and my breath catches. He's tall-easily over six feet-an