I
'Shit'
That was the first word that came to mind as the cell door clanged shut behind me.
Not exactly poetic, but what the hell else was I supposed to think? My heart was pounding so loud I could hear it echoing off the concrete. I stood there for a second—frozen—staring at the four walls I’d be calling home. They were gray. Ugly. Miserable. Like someone had built this place with the sole purpose of erasing hope.
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t help. The air was stale and heavy, like it’d been sitting still for decades. I could feel the panic clawing at my throat, threatening to rise, but I shoved it back down like I always do.
Crying? Breaking down? Nah. Not today.
I wasn’t gonna give anyone the satisfaction.
I stepped inside, boots scuffing the floor, and the door locked behind me with a click that made my spine tighten. I turned around slowly, not sure what to expect—and there she was. Already sitting on the lower bunk, legs crossed, hair falling lazily over her shoulder like she didn’t have a care in the world.
Her eyes flicked up, calm and amused. “You’re the new one?”
I blinked. “No, I just broke in here for fun.”
She snorted. “Nice. I like you already.”
She held out her hand like we were at some brunch and not in a fucking prison cell. “Pieck.”
I hesitated for like half a second before shaking it. Her grip was warm. Steady. Nothing like mine, which were still slightly shaking, even if I pretended they weren’t.
“Y/N,” I said. My voice was steadier than I felt. “Let me guess—you’re the welcoming committee?”
She grinned. “Something like that. You’ll see.”
I sat down on the edge of the upper bunk, glancing around like it’d change anything. This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t something I could close my eyes and wake up from.
He was dead. I killed him. And now I’m here.
And they didn’t care why I did it. What he did to me. All they saw was blood. My hands. His body.
Justice? Yeah, fuck that.
Pieck was still watching me. “You holding up?”
I looked at her. “I’m breathing. That’s enough.”
She nodded like she respected that. Like she’d heard a thousand answers before, but mine wasn’t bullshit. Then, just as fast, she stretched out and sighed like we were in some lazy afternoon and not rotting in steel.
“You got anyone on the outside?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Nope. Just me.”
Her expression didn’t change, but I could tell that answer told her more than I meant to give away.
“Well,” she said, settling back, “you’ve got me now.”
I raised a brow. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”
She smirked. “You’ll find out.”
06.58 AM
Mornings in this place hit different.
It wasn’t the kind of wake-up where birds chirped and the sun kissed your face. Nah. It was fluorescent lights flickering on like an interrogation room and someone shouting “Let’s go, ladies!” like they were herding cattle.
Welcome to hell.
I sat up in my bunk, rubbing my eyes. My back ached from the shitty mattress, and my dreams were doing that thing again—switching between memories I didn’t ask to relive and ones I couldn’t get rid of if I tried.
“You look like you got hit by a truck,” Pieck said from below, already pulling her hoodie over her head.
“Feel like it too,” I muttered, climbing down. “Didn’t know screaming in your sleep was part of the charm here.”
I froze hearing that, "What.?"
She tilted her head. “You were screaming.”
I blinked. “Was I?”
Pieck didn’t answer—just gave me the look that said yeah, but I’m not gonna make you feel worse about it. Then she tossed me a rubber band. “C’mon. Yard first, breakfast after. I want you to meet someone.”
Great. More introductions. Nothing I loved more than being the fresh meat on display.
07.22 AM
The yard was cold this morning—colder than it had any right to be. Gray skies stretched overhead, the kind that made you forget what warmth felt like. The air smelled like rust and old sweat, and the ground crunched under my shoes as I walked beside Pieck.
“You nervous?” she asked, glancing sideways at me.
“Nah,” I said, even though I totally was. “Just mentally preparing for another episode of 'What the Hell Is Staring at Me Now'.”
Pieck laughed. “You’re adjusting faster than I thought.”
We were halfway across the yard when it happened.
I didn’t even see him coming.
One second I was walking, minding my own business, and the next—bam—a shoulder slammed into mine hard enough to make me stumble back.
“Shit—sorry!” a voice blurted.
I looked up, ready to throw hands, but froze when I saw who it was.
Blond. Blue-eyed. He looked like he belonged in a debate club, not in a place where toothbrushes got sharpened into weapons. He had a rake in one hand—probably doing some assigned yard duty—and wide eyes like he just hit someone way above his pay grade.
“You good?” I asked, brushing myself off.
“Yeah—yeah, totally. That was my bad. Wasn’t looking.”
I stared at him a second longer. He wasn’t threatening. Just.. weirdly out of place.
He glanced behind him, muttered another apology, and walked off quickly, disappearing toward a group near the far corner of the yard.
“Who the hell was that?” I asked, turning to Pieck.
“Armin,” she said, like it explained everything. “He’s harmless. Smart. Quiet. One of Yeager’s boys.”
“Yeager?” I echoed, eyebrows raised.
But Pieck just grinned. “You’ll see.”
We weaved past a few clusters of inmates, past a group of girls who looked like they’d kill you with a smile. I kept my posture straight, face blank, eyes forward. You couldn’t look too soft in here. Not even for a second.
And then I saw her.
Leaning against the fence like it belonged to her. Tall. Lean. Short bleach-blond hair. Her arms were crossed, eyes half-lidded like nothing around her deserved real attention. She looked me over once, slow and clinical, like she was deciding if I was worth her time.
“Y/N,” Pieck said, gesturing toward her. “This is Yelena.”
So this was the infamous Yelena.
Yelena didn’t smile. She didn’t offer a handshake. Just looked me dead in the eye and said, “I’ve heard about you.”
“Already?” I raised a brow. “Damn. Word travels fast in prison.”
Pieck grinned. “Told you you’re interesting.”
Yelena stepped closer, just enough for her presence to press in. Not threatening, not yet—but definitely deliberate. “You moved like you were bracing for something,” she said, voice low and even. “Even before Armin ran into you.”
“Maybe I was,” I replied, matching her stare. “Better to expect the hit than be surprised by it, right?”
That made her smile. Not sweet. More like a shark baring teeth.
“You’re smart.”
“She is,” Pieck said, almost proudly.
Yelena cocked her head, circling me like she was still deciding what box to put me in. Then she said, “Sit with us today. At lunch.”
“Is this a test?” I asked.
“Maybe.” Her grin widened. “Or maybe I like to collect good pieces.”
“Pieces?” I echoed.
“We’re all pieces in here. You just have to decide if you’re a pawn or something more.”
She didn’t wait for my answer. Just turned and started walking, Pieck following with a little shrug like that’s just Yelena for you.
And me? I stood there for a second, watching the two of them—so confident, so at home in this hellhole—before trailing behind them.
Because maybe, just maybe, sticking with them was the smartest move I’d made since stepping into this place.