Page 13 of Mason

His head snaps toward me, sharp and sudden, like the thought had never even crossed his mind. His first real reaction.

“What did you have in mind?” His voice is quieter now, weighted.

“The wiring in this place is shot. Hasn’t been updated in decades. Corrupt contractors, dirty politicians—you know how it goes. In a few weeks, a fire’s going to break out. One big enoughto trigger the auto-unlock on all doors. You’ll be in isolation. In the confusion, in the fear—no one remembers you.” I pause, watching him. “Meanwhile, you head to the nurse’s station. Wanda will be waiting.”

He narrows his eyes. “Wanda?”

I roll mine. “The nurse starting here tomorrow. Familiarize yourself. Get a stomachache, fake the flu. But don’t say a word. She knows who you are.”

His jaw locks. The gears turning in his head. Staring at the yard like it’s the last time he’ll see it. Like he’s almost afraid to say goodbye.

“And after?”

“Your body will be recovered, burnt to a crisp. The world will mourn you. Or maybe not,” I shrug. “Case closed. After that, we’ll get you to safety. Surgery. A new life. In that order.”

Ghost doesn’t ask if I can be trusted. He already knows the answer. And we both know that this plan—it’s well thought out, and it’s failproof.

6

MASON

Ghost and I keep our distance when we’re out in the yard, moving through the general population like two predators who recognize their own but refuse to hunt together. There’s a silent agreement between us—one that doesn’t need words. He’s on board, that much I know. But the other unspoken rule is just as important: we don’t make our alliance obvious. Not here. Not when every set of eyes in this place is trained on us, waiting, watching.

We’re the two highest-profile criminals in this prison, though for vastly different reasons. Ghost is infamous. A legend wrapped in myth, his name still whispered across news networks, his face flashing across screens every time another body is pulled from some forgotten grave, fueling the eternal question—was it one of his? The media feasts on him, digging up his past, spinning theories, rehashing old footage of him walking into the courthouse with that cold, unshaken stare.

Me? I’m the opposite. I avoid cameras like the plague. No press, no interviews, no public appearances. I keep my head down, my name floating under the radar by design. But people still know who I am. How could they not? And those who don’t?Well, curiosity is a powerful thing. If they dig deep enough, they’ll find the answers they’re looking for.

I’ve done what I came here to do. It took longer than planned—but the worst of it is over. The pieces are in place. Now, all I have to do is walk out of here and let the next phase unfold.

And that won’t take long.

My bail’s been posted. A few more hours, a couple of signatures, and I’ll be out of this hellhole. Just as soon as the ink dries on the paperwork.

And once I walk out those gates, the real work begins.

Freedom. I can almost smell it.

It clings to the edges of my senses, teasing me, promising things I’ve taken for granted—the feel of my own bed, the sound of silence that isn’t punctuated by the distant echoes of men losing their minds. Even the damn shower water at home will be different. I won’t leave it feeling like I’ve somehow gotten dirtier.

I push back from the table, ready to walk, ready to leave this place behind, when Clay’s voice stops me.

“I need a favor.”

I glance down at him. The kid looks wrecked, like I just told him his last friend in the world is walking out the door. Maybe I did. Maybe that’s exactly what’s happening. The thought grates at me.

Ghost will look out for him, but something about Clay staying in here when he’s innocent doesn’t sit right.

I sigh, dropping back into my chair. “Make it quick.”

Clay fidgets, his fingers pulling at the fraying edge of his sleeve. “They wouldn’t even allow me a phone call, Mase. Please…” His brows knit together like he’s not sure how to say what he needs.

“Tell me.”

He exhales, shaky, hesitant. “Could you just get a message to my sister? She lives local. She doesn’t even know that I’m in here.”

I watch him carefully. His eyes don’t meet mine. There’s more to this than he’s letting on. “What’s the message?”

“Just… tell her where I am. Let her know I’m okay. And…” He hesitates, his throat bobbing with the effort. “Tell her that David knows she’s here. And that she needs to be careful.”

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