Page 9 of Victorious: Part I

But there’s no calming this.

There never is.

And still, I go inside.

Because we’re riding high from taking down Governor Marshall. It was a major win for the club, and I can’t wait to share the news with my mom. She’s been my rock through everything, even from behind these walls.

As I approach the entrance, the guard gives me his usual suspicious once-over, eyeing my cut like it might spontaneously combust. I’m used to this dance by now—I remove my knife and place it in a locker before he pats me down.

“You know the drill, Montana,” he grumbles, his voice flat.

“Always a pleasure, Reynolds,” I reply cockily with a forced smile.

The reception area is the same as always—gray walls, uncomfortable plastic chairs, and the smell of industrial cleaner doing a poor job of masking the institutional odor. Behind the bulletproof glass sits the always effervescent Rhonda, smacking her gum with practiced indifference.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite redheaded pain in the ass,” Rhonda drawls, barely glancing up from her magazine. “Back again, Montana? You just can’t stay away, can ya?”

I step up to the window, forcing a smirk. “What can I say? The hospitality’s unmatched.”

She snorts. “Uh-huh. And yet, I still remember you losing your damn mind in here like it was yesterday.”

I place a hand over my heart. “That?That was passionate advocacy.”

“That was you throwing a hissy fit because you didn’t check the damn visitor list,” she shoots back, finally looking up. “So? Here to see Valerie Drake, or did you finally wise up and come to see me instead?” She waggles her brows at me.

I grin. “Would it kill you to admit you miss me, Rhonda?”

She smirks, flipping a page, and continues to smack her gum. “Nah. But letting you believe it might.”

Softly chuckling, I sigh. “How’s she doing?” I ask, dropping my playful banter and leaning closer to the glass.

Rhonda’s gum-chewing slows, and her eyes flick briefly to the guard standing nearby before returning to me. “Same as always. Processing the new batch that came in last week. Lotta tension in the yard these days.”

The way she says it—careful, measured—makes my stomach tighten. “New batch?”

“Women from all over the state system. Transfers.” She lowers her voice slightly. “Your mama’s been… busy.”

That’snotwhat I wanted to hear.

My mom’s been in this place for years and survived by keeping her head down and aligning with therightpeople.

New inmates mean shifting alliances and shifting alliances mean danger.

“Sign here,” Rhonda snaps loudly, sliding a clipboard through the slot. I scrawl my signature and push it back. She buzzes me through, but as I start to walk away, she adds, “Tell your mama to watch herself, red.” The warning sends a chill down my spine, but I nod in acknowledgment before heading into the visitation preparation area.

Another guard pats me down again before I’m led into the visitation room. The space is filled with tables, each surrounded by plastic chairs. A few other visitors are already seated, waiting for their loved ones. I take a seat at an empty table in the corner, my knee bouncing with nervous energy.

The door on the far side of the room buzzes, and inmates file in, each scanning the room for their visitors. My mom enters, and my breath catches. She looks thinner than the last time I saw her, the prison jumpsuit hanging loosely on her frame. Her red hair, so similar to mine, is tied back in a simple ponytail, and there are new lines around her eyes. And it’s only been ten days since Bea and Haven were in here with her last.

This much deterioration in this short amount of time means that something is one hundred percent going on. But it’s the way she’s walking that concerns me most—slightly hunched, eyes constantly scanning the room before landing on me. There’s a wariness to her movements that wasn’t there before.

When she spots me, she straightens, a smile breaking across her face that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Noah,” she chimes, embracing me briefly before taking a seat. “Twice in one month? What’s the occasion, sweetheart?”

I force a laugh, trying to keep things light. “Good news for once. Thought you might want to hear it in person.”

She gives me a tired smile. “I could use some good news. What’s going on?”

“We took down Governor Marshall,” I state, keeping my voice low. “The bastard’s going away for a long time. Proof of corruption, human trafficking, the works.”

---