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“Jack must be up again.”

“What did you just say?” Khalani whipped her head.

Elise gave her a confused look. “I said Jack must be fighting tonight.”

“What do you mean, ‘fighting’?”

“A few months back, a bunch of prisoners committed suicide with the pickaxes,” Elise explained. “That’s when they started putting out bins for stupid ball games at the end of the day. When that didn’t work, they let the prisoners vent their anger by fighting each other. They still get suicides, but you’d be surprised what a little bloodshed does for morale. Dirty bastards ate it up.”

Khalani and Takeshi stood at the same time.

“Well, I can’t blame you for wanting to see. Nothing else to do,” Elise remarked in a bored voice before turning to Clyde. “Dad, you alright here?”

“Key. Ring. Save. Key. Ring. Save.”

“Okay, you’re fine.” Elise rose and joined Takeshi and Khalani as they walked toward the group of prisoners.

The fighting area didn’t attract as much pandemonium as the pit in Braderhelm, but they still had to weave through layers of white-uniformed prisoners to reach the front.

The task became much easier with Takeshi pushing people aside. Standing nearly a foot taller than everyone, the other prisoners needed only one look at the cold promise of death in his eyes before instinctively stepping aside.

When they reached the front of the line, two men were fighting in the middle of the circle. There was no pit, just a gravel floor and a circular wall of prisoners staring into the center with a mix of anger, excitement, and bloodlust in their gazes.

She flinched when one of the men took a hard punch. He dropped to his knees, shaggy brown hair falling to his shoulders and a scraggly beard that desperately needed shaving.

The other fighter stood tall, with sandy grey hair. He appeared to be in his forties, a determined glint in his eyes, a confident demeanor, and a strong build that filled out his white uniform.

The shaggy man struggled to his feet, throwing a flurry of punches, noticeably off-balance.

The middle-aged man dodged them with ease, landing another hard clip to the ear before tripping the man so he landed face-first on the gravel. The man groaned, blood pouring from his nose.

Her gaze lingered on the crimson liquid, raw violence fueling her adrenaline.

“Finish him, Jack!” several prisoners shouted.

Without thinking, Khalani gripped Takeshi’s wrist.

Jack. The middle-aged man was Jack!

Jack stared down at the broken man, utterly silent against the cacophony of voices that urged him to inflict more damage. He squared his shoulders, not even breaking a sweat from the fight.

Everyone studied him intently, waiting for his next move.

From what she knew of men with power, he’d likely deliver further punishment so no one would question his authority—

“Someone take him to his cell and help clean him up,” Jack ordered, striding through the crowd without looking back.

He disappeared behind a line of people, and she panicked, moving to follow, but an alarm rang out across the cavern.

“Break is over,” a voice crackled over the speaker. “Return to your cells immediately or face electrocution.”

“Shit.” Khalani stood on her tiptoes, trying to spot Jack, but the crowd closed in around her, pushing everyone toward the white buildings.

“C’mon.” Takeshi said in a low voice. “We’ll find him tomorrow.”

Frustrated, she glared at the back of his head but let Takeshi guide her through the crowd. They walked to cell thirty-two in tense silence, and once they stepped inside, the clear doors automatically closed.

“Great,” she huffed, facing the transparent barrier. “This is just perfect.”