Her Silent Sentence

Blackridge Prison – Four Days After Damon's Visit

The ceiling of Cellblock D had a crack shaped like a lightning bolt. Lexa had stared at it every night since Damon showed up. Sleep eluded her. Answers did too.

She replayed every second of their conversation. His voice. His eyes. The way he'd said "There's more going on here than you realize."

That wasn't a lie. Not exactly. But it wasn't the truth either. Damon had always been good at keeping just enough off the table.

And that meant someone was still playing the game.

And she was the piece being moved.

---

Laundry Room – Midday

Lexa moved with slow precision, folding uniforms into neat stacks. The scent of bleach stung her nose. Greer hummed at the far end while Nova leaned against a crate, lazily tossing a ball of socks in the air.

It had been three days since the cafeteria standoff. Since Nova's crew silently backed Lexa without a word exchanged. Since Mara stopped looking her way altogether.

A balance had shifted.

Nova didn't speak much. But her eyes followed Lexa now. Not hostile. Not warm. Just watching.

"Didn't think you'd last this long," Greer said finally.

Lexa glanced at her. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"She means it as a compliment," Nova added, stepping closer. "Most girls Mara picks fights with disappear into med wing or seg within a week."

"I'm not most girls."

"No," Nova agreed. "You're not."

Greer chuckled. "Word is you used to be some hotshot fed. Now you're just laundry crew. How the mighty fall."

Lexa didn't answer.

But Greer wasn't finished.

"Funny thing," she said, lowering her voice. "Week you landed here? Someone came in. Quiet. No ID. No file. Gone before sunrise."

Lexa blinked. "That Usual?"

"Nothing's usual in Blackridge," Greer muttered. "But I remember odd noises. A nurse said she saw a guy near the east panel. Kept eyeing the security wiring. Like he was... checking something."

Nova folded her arms. "You saying it's connected?"

Greer shrugged. "I'm saying strange things happen when the lights go out."

Lexa's pulse ticked up. The week of her arrest, she'd been black-bagged and processed before sunrise. No chance to make a call. No trial. Just straight to Blackridge.

"You remember what he looked like?" Lexa asked carefully.

Greer hesitated. "Tall. Heavy boots. Didn't speak. And his badge—if it was a badge—was upside down."

Nova frowned. "That mean something?"

Lexa didn't answer. It did mean something. An upside-down badge was an old fed signal. Silent alert. An internal warning.

Greer shrugged, backing off. "Could be nothing. But... the nurse quit two days later. Said the walls were watching."

Blackridge Library – Later That Day

The library was quiet, save for the occasional cough and the scratch of pencil on paper. Lexa scanned the shelves without seeing them. Her mind replayed Greer's words.

An unlogged visitor? Federal? Damon?

No. That didn't fit. He'd said he wasn't there when she was arrested. He'd looked her in the eye and said it.

Unless he'd lied.

Unless he'd come to make sure she stayed buried.

Her fingers stopped on a worn paperback: Espionage and Power: A History of Federal Intelligence. It was a crude attempt at irony. She flipped through the pages. Notes were scribbled in the margins.

Halfway through, something slipped out.

A torn index card. Old. Creased.

Lexa picked it up. Her eyes narrowed.

It was a cipher string.

One she'd memorized during her years with the bureau.

An old drop code. Used in black-ops communications. Phased out years ago. Only five people ever had full clearance to use it.

Damon was one of them.

And so was Lexa.

She turned the card over.

A single line in faded ink:

"They know what you did. But not why."

Her blood chilled.

This wasn't random.

Someone had planted this.

Recently.

She folded the card and slid it into her waistband. Then looked up—sensing movement.

A guard watched her through the glass.

She nodded, calm. Then turned away.

Stay quiet. Stay steady.

---

Flashback – A Year Before the Arrest

The D.C. rooftop bar shimmered with evening light. The Potomac sparkled below, reflecting the city's hunger.

Lexa sipped her drink, jaw tight.

Damon leaned beside her. Tie undone. Jacket open.

"You always brood this much?" he asked, nudging a second drink toward her.

"Only when I'm told to redact war crimes."

Damon gave a short laugh. "Still so righteous."

"You're still so corrupt."

"Balance," he said.

She eyed him. "That why you dragged me here? Balance me out?"

"No," he said. "I just didn't want to drink alone."

Silence lingered.

Lexa broke it. "If someone in the agency was being framed, what would you do?"

Damon's jaw ticked. "Depends who. And why."

"It shouldn't matter."

"It always matters."

She studied him. "You think we'll survive this place?"

He didn't answer.

He didn't have to.

---

Present Day – Cellblock D Showers

Steam filled the stalls. Lexa leaned against cold tile, eyes closed. Her hands trembled.

Damon's visit. The card. The ghost visitor. It was all connected.

Behind the hiss of water, she heard footsteps. A shadow paused.

"Don't drop the soap," a voice said dryly.

Lexa spun, jaw clenched.

Nova.

She leaned against the wall, smirking.

"Relax," she said. "Just checking on you."

"I'm fine."

Nova raised a brow. "Sure. That's why your knuckles are white and your eyes scream 'I haven't slept in days.'"

Lexa didn't respond.

Nova stepped closer. "Whatever you're chasing… it's watching you back."

Lexa's voice was ice. "What do you know about Greystone?"

Nova blinked. "That place burned down before I got here."

"You once asked if I believed in ghosts. I think Greystone isn't dead."

Nova stared at her. "You're serious."

Lexa nodded. "Someone left a message in a book. It used federal ops code. Code only Damon and I used. And a few others. It said they know what I did... but not why."

Nova was quiet. Then she said, "Meet me tomorrow. Laundry room."

"Why?"

"There's someone you need to talk to. She was in Greystone before the fire. She heard things. Saw things. Things that don't add up."

Lexa's pulse quickened. "She's still alive?"

"For now."

Solitary Hallway – Midnight

Lexa crept through the dark, guided by memory and instinct. A guard shift change gave her a thirty-second window. She slipped into the corridor, heart pounding.

She wasn't headed to the library this time.

She was going back to the archive room. The one Damon had stared at when they passed it during their last encounter. Like he'd wanted to say something but couldn't.

Inside, shelves lined the walls. Files. Footage. Sealed boxes.

Lexa opened the drawer labeled Level 4 – Internal Surveillance. Flicked through labels.

Found her name.

Quinn, Lexa – Pre-Incarceration Video

She clicked the tape into the monitor.

The screen blinked.

And then—she saw it.

The night of her arrest. Security footage. Her entering the bureau's server room. Alone.

Except… she wasn't alone.

A frame flickered.

A man behind her. Barely visible. Cap pulled low.

He swiped something across the panel. Her clearance ID.

And he looked at the camera for exactly one second.

Lexa froze.

Because she recognized the eyes.

Not Damon's.

Someone else.

Someone who'd vanished two years before she was arrested.

Agent Raymond Coyle.

Declared dead.

But he was alive. And he'd used her badge.

They knew what you did. But not why.

Lexa's heart thundered.

She wasn't just a scapegoat.

She was bait.

Later that night, Lexa lay awake in her bunk, the low hum of prison life crawling through the cinder block walls. Distant murmurs. A clang of metal. Someone coughing in the next cell. But her mind wasn't in Blackridge—it was back in the briefing room three years ago. The coded message. The breach that had changed everything.

The sound of her cell door sliding open jolted her upright. Not a full opening—just enough for a folded slip of paper to be tossed in.

Lexa stared at it before picking it up.

No handwriting. Just block letters printed from a computer:

"Keep looking. B2."

Her heart pounded.

Block B2 was restricted—minimum movement allowed, mostly used for inmates in segregation or under administrative watch. If something was there… someone was risking everything to lead her to it.

She tucked the note beneath her mattress. The guard had already vanished.

---

The Next Morning – Laundry Room

Steam hissed from the press. Lexa approached Nova casually, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You know anyone in B2?"

Nova's eyes flicked to the camera in the corner, then back to Lexa. "Not since Sykes. Why?"

"I got a tip."

Nova's gaze sharpened. "You sure it's not bait?"

Lexa shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

Nova leaned slightly closer, her voice lower now. "You're playing with fire, Quinn."

Lexa held her stare. "Then maybe it's time something burns."

Nova didn't smile—but something flickered behind her eyes. Approval? Worry? Lexa couldn't tell.

---

Afternoon – Blackridge Library

Greer slid into the seat across from Lexa, pretending to read a worn-out thriller novel.

"She knows," Greer muttered.

Lexa didn't look up. "Nova?"

"No. The Warden."

Lexa turned a page. "How?"

"She's got her own channels. Cameras. Mail. And someone on the inside's feeding her too. You didn't hear that from me."

The pressure in Lexa's chest tightened. "Why tell me any of this?"

Greer hesitated. Then: "Because I've seen what this place does to people who ask questions. And… I heard something you should know."

Lexa leaned in, listening.

"There's talk of a patient transfer last year. From Greystone."

Lexa froze. "You're sure?"

Greer nodded. "Didn't say a name. But it wasn't a normal transfer. Came in under full military escort. And here's the kicker—he was linked to something called Protocol 9."

Lexa blinked. That name again.

Protocol 9. She'd heard it once, years ago—deep inside a secure black-site, during a whispered debrief about rogue operatives and failed experiments. No details. No files. Just a name carried like a ghost.

"That's not prison-level clearance," she said quietly.

"Exactly."

---

That Night – Cellblock D

Lexa sketched notes on a scrap of fabric: names, initials, directions. The cipher. The tape. B2. The Greystone whisper. It was forming—slowly—but something was coming into focus.

And at the center of it: Greystone.

---

Flashback – Two Months Before Her Arrest

Lexa sat at her terminal, reviewing logs from Greystone's final weeks. One video clip stood out—damaged, but strange. A hallway camera. Static flickered across the feed. A tall figure stood still at the far end. Motionless. Face obscured.

She'd flagged it immediately.

"This isn't just corrupted," she told Damon, handing him the drive. "Someone scrubbed the metadata. It's intentional."

He'd looked at it, jaw tight. "I'll escalate it."

But the clip never appeared in official reports again.

---

Present – Cellblock D

Lexa stared at the ceiling. Was that the moment Damon began shutting her out? Or… was that when he started trying to protect her?

She didn't know.

But if he was back now, it wasn't by accident. And if Protocol 9 was real—then Greystone wasn't just a failed black-site. It was something darker.

And she hadn't just been betrayed.

She'd been chosen.

---

Final Scene – Just Before Lights Out

Lexa rolled onto her side, trying to settle. Her eyes adjusted to the dark. But something shifted under her bunk.

She reached down.

Another slip of paper.

Folded. Plain.

She opened it.

One word, printed in that same block type:

"RUN."

Lexa's blood ran cold.

Someone wasn't warning her anymore.

They were giving her a countdown.

[Author's Thought]

You ever feel like the truth is close—too close—but every time you reach for it, someone moves it just out of reach?

That's where Lexa is now.

Damon's not innocent. Coyle's not dead. And Greystone? It was never just a facility—it was a fuse waiting to be lit.

She's not just solving a mystery.

She's unearthing a trap she helped build.

And now someone's slipping notes in the dark.

One word: Run.

But where do you run when the walls are watching?