Her Silent Sentence

The blood hadn't dried when she woke.

Lexa stared at the words painted across her wall—bold, ragged strokes that glistened in the low light.

> Greystone never died. Neither will Ariadne.

It was written just above her bunk, right where her eyes would land the moment she turned.

Her breath hitched.

The coppery tang filled her nose. She touched the pillow. Damp.

Fingers came away red.

Not rust.

Not ink.

Blood.

Lexa sat up fast, pulse hammering in her ears.

Her cell was locked tight. No signs of forced entry. No creaking hinges. No shadowed figure crawling through the dark.

And yet, someone had been here. Close enough to whisper. Close enough to bleed.

Whoever they were... they wanted her rattled.

They'd succeeded.

---

MORNING REPORT

When roll call hit, she didn't hesitate. She stepped to the bars and flagged the officer posted at Cellblock C's end.

New face.

Broad-shouldered, ponytail, unfamiliar jawline.

"Hey," Lexa called. "There's something in my cell. Wall's marked up. Blood."

The woman sauntered closer, eyes scanning Lexa's bunk with an unreadable calm. Her nametag read: Lewis.

Lexa squinted. She hadn't seen this one before.

"You new here?" she asked.

Lewis gave a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Been floating. Your block's on rotation now."

Lexa's stomach tightened.

Floating officers meant records could be scrambled. Accountability blurred. Designed for deniability.

"There's blood on my wall," Lexa repeated. "Written words. Someone got in."

Lewis didn't look in. Didn't even check.

Just said, "I'll pass it up the chain. Meanwhile, grab your mop and join the laundry crew. You're already marked."

Lexa felt the words like a cold hand at her throat. Marked. That wasn't just a warning—it was a label. A target.

"Marked for what?"

Lewis's smile sharpened, eyes cold. "For noticing. For asking questions they don't want answered."

Lexa's fists clenched, jaw tight. "So, this is just how it works now? Pretend everything's fine?"

Lewis stepped closer, voice barely a whisper. "We don't pretend. We survive. Keep your head down, Quinn. That's the safest place."

Lexa swallowed hard, the weight of those words settling like ice.

She turned away, but her spine burned with a growing unease that trailed her down the corridor.

---

MID-MORNING – THE VANISH

She returned hours later.

The door buzzed open.

Lexa stepped inside—and froze.

The message was gone.

Every inch of the wall scrubbed clean. Pillow replaced. No blood, no trace, no smell.

It was like waking from a dream you knew had happened—except reality now denied it.

She checked the bunk, the vent, the floor.

Nothing.

Just that eerie, manufactured cleanliness.

Too perfect.

Too silent.

Lexa's heart drummed against her ribs as she stood inside her cell, hands clenched. The blood. It was real. She'd seen it. Smelled it. Thick, metallic. Still wet when her fingers hovered above it.

By the time the guard strolled over with a bored expression, it was gone. Every inch of the wall scrubbed to sterile perfection.

"You're sure it was blood?" she asked lazily, her gaze scanning the pristine concrete.

"I don't hallucinate," Lexa bit out, but even she felt the thread of doubt snake into her voice. The cold fluorescent lights above hummed steadily, mocking.

"Right. Put in a work order if you see another ghost message."

Lexa didn't reply. As the guard wandered off, she stayed rooted. There was no use screaming. No one would hear.

She stared at the wall long and hard.

If they wanted her to feel crazy, it was working.

---

MESS HALL – CODE TALK

Inez lay stretched on a bench like a lounging jaguar, twisting the edge of her scarf between fingers cracked from cold. The air inside the block was sharp with bleach, but beneath it lingered the sour-sweat scent of fear.

Lexa approached slowly.

"You look like hell cracked open," Inez muttered.

"You ever wake up to blood on your wall?"

Inez raised a brow but didn't stop chewing. "Yours or someone else's?"

"Not mine. Not random. Message was carved clear."

Lexa leaned in. "When I got back, it was gone. Not cleaned—vanished. Like it never happened."

Inez's fork stopped and her lips curled into a half-smile.

"What you saw ain't the question, sugar. What you didn't see—that's what you should worry about."

Lexa didn't blink. "Talk."

"Blood don't lie." Inez sat up now, her eyes dark and glinting. "But this place? It erases. Like you never existed. Like none of us ever mattered."

"You say that like it's a game."

"It is. You just ain't figured out which board you're on."

Lexa frowned. "Tell me what you know about Ariadne."

Inez gave her a slow, hard look. "Ariadne ain't a name you toss around. Not unless you want eyes on your back. She was deep, and now she's dust. Or so they say."

Lexa leaned back. "You always this cryptic?"

Inez wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "You ask questions like a fed. That don't fly in here."

"I'm not asking for free," Lexa said. "I just need to know if someone in here's tied to Greystone."

"Greystone's a ghost-town," Inez said. "Burned and buried."

"You sure?"

Inez's voice dropped to a whisper. ""Greystone don't burn, Quinn. It molts."

Lexa nodded once. "Then I want to see its new face."

Inez looked around, then back at her. "Careful, Quinn. You keep scratching at ghosts, they start scratching back."

---

LATER – NOVA'S WARNING

Laundry crew had just clocked out when Nova stepped into Lexa's path, all grace and shadow.

Lexa didn't stop.

Nova fell in beside her.

"Inez said you got tagged," Nova said.

"Wasn't a tag. It was a message. Blood on my wall."

Nova clicked her tongue. "Old Greystone game. Classic ops tactic. Make you question what you saw, then erase the evidence."

"So I'm being gaslit."

"This ain't gaslight, Lexa. This is stagecraft."

Lexa shot her a sideways glance. "For what?"

Nova didn't answer.

Just pulled a slip of fabric from her waistband and handed it over.

A scrap of a burnt prison memo. The corner was missing, but three words stood out on the remaining half:

> Ariadne – transfer pending.

Only a handful of agents would've had access to Ariadne's file. Damon had been one of them.

Adrenaline thrummed like static beneath her skin. "Where was this?"

"Filed under junk. Archives. Took a favor to grab it. You want the rest, you'll need to see who filed it."

Lexa looked at the handwriting.

Slanted. Neat. Almost… military.

She folded the scrap and tucked it into her waistband.

---

THE ARCHIVES – The Name Appears

Lexa made it to the lower archive wing two days later with Inez clearing the timing.

It smelled of dust and secrets.

She moved past the labeled boxes, toward the ones that didn't have tags—burned edges, half-stamped labels.

One in the back had the words Protocol 9 faded into the corner.

She opened it.

Inside—documents with chunks redacted, files shredded, corners burnt.

She sorted through until a flash of familiar initials stopped her cold:

> Agent D. Cross – Clearance Override: Subject A / Interim Containment Active.

Lexa stared at the page.

Damon.

Not just mentioned.

Not just nearby.

Authorized. Approved. Embedded.

She gripped the paper tighter.

What the hell had he done?

---

FIRST ENCOUNTER — HALLWAY, OUTSIDE PROCESSING

Lexa spotted him the second the gate buzzed.

Damon Cross.

Not in uniform. Not in chains.

Just standing there like he owned gravity.

His suit was charcoal, collar loose, a file tucked under one arm. He walked past the line of COs with barely a nod, badge flashed fast—he didn't need words. Clearance like his was its own language.

Lexa's spine stiffened.

She didn't know he was coming. No one had said a thing. That was the point.

He wasn't here for a debrief or to check protocols.

He was here for her.

Or to remind her how invisible she'd become.

Their eyes met across the corridor.

Just for a second.

Enough to drag the air from her chest.

She stepped forward.

"Agent Cross."

He didn't break stride. Didn't blink.

"Prisoner Quinn," he said smoothly, tone colder than steel.

Lexa moved to intercept.

"You knew about Protocol Nine," she said, keeping her voice low, tight.

He paused. Just enough to seem human.

"I know many things."

"You signed off on Ariadne. Interim security. Subject A." Her words rushed, cracked around the edges.

His gaze was sharp, cold—like she was a problem already ticked off a list.

"You're not supposed to have access to that."

"I wasn't supposed to be locked up either, yet here we are."

For a heartbeat, his jaw twitched—just enough to show something raw beneath the surface—before the mask snapped back.

"Focus on your rehabilitation, Quinn. Delusions don't get parole."

Lexa's heart kicked. That wasn't dismissal—it was a deflection. He knew more. She could see it in the way he wouldn't meet her eyes.

He turned.

Lexa stepped into his path, close now, too close for a CO not to notice.

She whispered, "You think keeping me in the dark protects me?"

He leaned in—just a hair.

"You should be more concerned with staying alive."

And then he was gone.

Not a backward glance.

Just a wall of silence trailing behind him.

She remembered how that same voice once murmured her name in the dark. Now it barely recognized her as human.

SECOND ENCOUNTER — NEAR INFIRMARY, LATE EVENING

Lexa was coming out of med check, arm wrapped from a bruised vein.

The hall was dim. Quiet shift. The kind of quiet that made your skin itch.

She didn't expect to see him again so soon.

Damon was waiting near the exit, staring at a flickering light above the security door like it was whispering secrets.

She stopped.

"You back to check the plumbing this time?" she said.

He gave a low exhale. "You always this reckless?"

"I try."

Damon didn't face her. Just spoke toward the wall.

"This place listens. Not with ears. With walls."

"Cryptic," Lexa said. "You working for them now?"

His jaw clenched. "I'm not working for anyone."

She stepped closer. "Then help me."

He turned then, slowly.

Something in his eyes had cracked. Not fully. Just enough for her to see the wreckage behind them.

"You were never meant to see that file," he said.

"But I did."

He nodded once. "Then you already know what you shouldn't."

Silence pulsed between them.

"Why come here?" Lexa asked.

"You ask too many questions."

"I never ask enough."

He looked around, then took a step forward—too close now. She didn't back away.

His voice dropped into her ear, just above a breath.

"Not yet."

Before she could blink, he was moving—quick, precise, like he'd never been there at all.

Lexa turned, chest burning, head loud with thoughts.

Not yet.

What the hell did that mean?

And why did it sound like a promise?

FLASHBACK : A YEAR BEFORE THE ARREST —

Lexa's mind flickered back to a brief, tense meeting a few days earlier.

The informant had slipped her a folded note in the yard—quick words, urgent eyes.

"They want you to believe Greystone's a ghost story—ashes and silence. They buried the fire. But the coals are still breathing."

"The system's a mask now—new faces, same poison beneath."

"Ariadne ain't gone. She's a scar. A ghost that breathes through the cracks. Chase those ghosts, and they'll reach back to drag you under."

The words weren't proof. Just a seed planted deep, twisting in her gut.

What if Greystone never really shut its doors?

What if the nightmare she thought ended… was just the beginning?

---

BACK IN HER CELL — THE PAPER MESSAGE

The cell door clanged shut behind her, locking with cold finality.

Lexa's eyes scanned the room—quiet, empty.

Her gaze fell to the floor near the corner.

A folded scrap of paper lay there, stark against the concrete.

She picked it up.

Ink black and sharp:

"Ariadne lives."

Her breath hitched. She stared at it until the letters burned into her brain.

No blood.

No smeared warnings.

Just a cold, clear message.

A statement.

A challenge.