The Inmate’s Angel

#2. Duncan mighty

The dining hall smelled of boiled starch and metal trays, a scent that never quite left the back of Duncan Blackwood’s throat no matter how long he stayed inside. He sat at one of the long tables with the other inmates, shoulders squared and posture rigid, his presence alone creating a pocket of fear around him. Men ate loudly, laughed too hard and shoved elbows into ribs but no one bumped into Duncan. No one ever did.

He stared down at the food before him as if it were an obligation rather than a meal. Breakfast was something to endure here, not enjoy. He lifted his spoon calmly, every movement controlled. This was not a life he was used to. It was a role he had stepped into, worn like a mask until the job was done.

And the job was done.

Soon, he would be released.

The thought carried no relief, no rush of anticipation. Just certainty. He had entered this prison the same way he entered everything else, intentionally. A criminal already, slipping easily into a system that was never designed to hold men like him for long. Inmate 105 had been the target. A man who should never see daylight again.

Duncan had made sure of that.

Now, with the task completed, the walls no longer mattered. The routines no longer mattered. He would walk out, return to the world that understood him and take another contract. That was all there was. That was all there had ever been.

He ate slowly, not because he savored the food but because haste drew attention. Across from him, Matthew watched him with the curiosity of someone who had survived by learning when to speak and when to stay silent. Matthew had befriended him early on, if that was what you could call hovering just close enough to borrow safety from a dangerous man.

“Something tells me you’ll be released today, Duncan,” Matthew said quietly, leaning forward as if sharing a secret.

Duncan didn’t look up. He scooped another bite into his mouth and chewed with infuriating calm.

Matthew took the silence as permission. “Now that you’ve put Rafael in his position, I’m sure he wouldn’t cause more trouble in here even if you leave.”

Duncan swallowed, then reached for his cup. The water was lukewarm, tasteless. He drank anyway, his eyes finally lifting to meet Matthew’s. The look he gave him was flat and unwelcoming.

“Even if he does cause trouble,” Duncan said, his voice low and precise, “you already know what to do.”

Matthew stiffened.

“A close punch to the neck,” Duncan continued, his tone conversational, almost bored, “followed by an uppercut. He’ll drop instantly.”

Matthew’s eyes widened, fear flickering there before he could hide it. He forced a laugh that came out thin. “I—I don’t want to sound like a coward, but I’ll rather pass.”

Duncan rolled his eyes and returned to his food, finished the rest in quick and efficient motions. The conversation was over. Matthew knew it. Everyone at the table knew it.

A sudden movement at Duncan’s side caught his attention. A young boy, no more than twenty stood there clutching his tray with both hands, shoulders hunched, eyes darting nervously around the hall. He swallowed hard before speaking.

“Sir… Duncan,” the boy said, voice trembling. “You can have my meal if you want.”

Duncan looked at him properly then. Really looked. Too young for this place. Too soft. The kind of boy the system would chew up if someone didn’t scare the predators off first.

Duncan shook his head once. “No.”

The boy blinked, confused.

“Eat your food,” Duncan said, his voice firm but not unkind. “And stop being people’s dog. Or worshipping anyone here. No one would hurt you.”

The words were blunt, stripped of comfort, but there was an undercurrent in them, something protective, something almost warning. The boy nodded quickly, relief flooding his face and hurried away to his seat.

Duncan watched him go, a quiet sigh leaving his chest before he could stop it. He didn’t know why it bothered him. Maybe because boys like that reminded him of things he’d buried a long time ago. Or maybe because innocence had no place in cages like this.

“Are you going in now?” Matthew asked cautiously.

Duncan stood, pushing his bench back with a scrape. “I need to go rest my head.”

He hadn’t taken two steps when a uniformed officer approached. “Blackwood.”

Duncan turned, his expression instantly shuttered. Cold and empty.

The officer jerked his head toward the exit. “You’re coming with me.”

Matthew’s face lit up with smug triumph. “I knew it,” he mouthed.

Duncan ignored him and followed the officer through the corridors, boots echoing against concrete floors. The office smelled of paper and disinfectant, a sterile contrast to the chaos outside.

“Duncan Blackwood,” the officer said, glancing at a file. “You’re to be released today.”

Duncan stood there as if he hadn’t heard a word. No reaction. No shift in posture. Just stillness.

The officer frowned. “Not excited?”

“What’s there to be excited about?” Duncan replied, his voice as cold as steel.

The officer studied him for a moment, then nodded as if that answer made sense.

The door burst open.

A scream tore through the room, raw and panicked. Two officers dragged a woman inside, her white wedding dress soaked in blood, the fabric torn and clinging to her small frame. Her hair was disheveled, black strands sticking to her tear streaked face.

“I didn’t do anything!” she cried. “I swear—I swear!”

“Silence!” one of the policemen barked.

She went quiet instantly, lips trembling as she fought back sobs.

“This place is a prison,” another officer said coldly. “If you’re here, then you’ve been convicted.”

Duncan watched her quietly. Took her in. Small and fragile. Her eyes were wide, terrified, searching for something, anything to hold onto. She was beautiful in a way that felt out of place here, like a stain of color in a world of gray. Sadly the female prisoner in here don’t show mercy.

Something shifted inside him.

He watched as she was led away, her footsteps faltering, her shoulders shaking. And for the first time in a very long while, Duncan felt the pull of curiosity. A sharp, dangerous urge to know who she was. Why she was here. What had put that much fear in her eyes.

“You’re now free to go, Duncan,” the officer said.

Duncan didn’t move. “I need to get something from my prison room.”

The officer hesitated, then nodded. “Make it quick.”

Duncan walked back into the cellblock, his steps slow. The noise of the prison washed over him again, familiar and almost comforting. He stopped abruptly, grabbed the nearest inmate, and drove his fist hard into the man’s ribs.

The c***k echoed.

The alarm blared.

The inmate collapsed with a cry, bodies recoiling in shock as guards rushed in.

One officer stared at the scene, then shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Duncan. But I’m afraid you’ll be here again.”

Duncan straightened, blood on his knuckles, and smirked.