Elijah Vaughn

I was yanked without warning, stumbling as I was dragged into the kitchen. My heart pounded, my mind still stuck on what had happened in the cafeteria. Those dark, dangerous eyes had pierced right through me—like he already owned me before we’d even met.

As soon as we crossed the door, I was shoved against the wall, his hands gripping my shoulders with force. His eyes blazed with fury.

“Why the hell did you look at him?!” His explosive tone made my entire body tremble. “I told you not to look at the Reaper, damn it! Do you have a death wish?”

My hands shook. Shock completely took over.

“I-I… I’m sorry…”

He didn’t let me finish.

“Don’t give me some half-assed apology, rookie! I’m trying to help you, and you just ignore everything I say.”

He slammed his fists against the wall beside my head.

“Don’t blame me if the Reaper decides to kill you or rape you.”

A cold shiver ran down my spine. Just the thought of being violated by that monstrous man twisted my stomach into knots.

Fox let out a long sigh and ran a hand down his face, trying to calm himself.

“Look, sorry for snapping. But you pissed me off when you didn’t listen.”

Still in shock, I let out a shaky breath.

“I-I just wanted to know who he was so I could avoid him… I didn’t realize he was already watching us.”

He rolled his eyes, sighing again—this time more exhausted than angry.

“Let’s just hope he ignores you for now.”

I nodded, a heavy weight settling on my chest. I wasn’t so sure he would.

Fox studied me for a moment before changing the subject.

“What’s your name?”

I swallowed hard.

“Elijah… Elijah Vaughn.”

He nodded, but his expression grew more serious.

“Nobody uses real names in here. You’d better pick a nickname.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

He let out a humorless laugh.

“Because real names are weaknesses.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“In here, you’re just another convict. If they know who you really are, they’ll dig into your story, your fears. And trust me—you don’t want anyone having that kind of power over you.”

My palms started to sweat.

“But what’s the difference? I’m already stuck here.”

His eyes narrowed.

“The difference is, if they know your name, they can use it against you. If someone here knows someone out there… someone who could hurt you—a friend, a family member… A real name is a burden. A nickname protects you. Makes you less vulnerable.”

My chest tightened.

My family… the ones who abandoned me.

He noticed my expression and scoffed.

“See? That’s exactly why we don’t use names. Around here, identity is a curse.”

I swallowed hard, letting his words sink in.

“And you? Why Fox?”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“I didn’t choose it. They gave it to me. Said I’m clever—always find a way to escape the worst situations. Like a fox.”

I nodded slowly.

Changing my name felt strange.

But maybe it was necessary to survive.

He sighed deeply and stepped away from the counter.

“Come on. Let me show you how the kitchen works and what your job will be.”

He gestured around. The kitchen was big but chaotic. Prisoners in orange and black uniforms moved between filthy counters, carrying trays and stirring massive pots.

“Everyone has a job here. Some cook, some clean, some serve, and others manage ingredients. But listen carefully—if the food’s bad, the cafeteria turns into hell.” His eyes locked onto mine. “I’ve seen men killed over less.”

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