Chapter 1: The Weight of an Apple**
The cafeteria in Blackwood Maximum Security Penitentiary always smelled of wet bleach and lukewarm grease. At sixty-two, Arthur Vance moved with the calculated stillness of a man who had outlived every emergency. He sat at the stainless steel table in Cell Block D, wearing a crisp, washed-out blue scrub. On his tray sat a single, flawless red apple—the only fresh fruit served this month.
As Arthur’s wrinkled fingers reached toward it, a thunderous shadow descended. A thick, ink-covered forearm slammed onto the metal tray with a deafening clatter.
It was Kane Ross. Six-foot-four, two hundred and fifty pounds of compressed fury, a notorious enforcer whose knuckles bore old scar tissue.
"Fresh fruit isn't on your menu, old timer," Kane growled, his voice vibrating through the hollow mess hall.
The dining hall fell dead silent. Guards leaned against the catwalk railings, eager for cheap entertainment. Prisoners stopped chewing. Kane snatched the apple, sank his yellowed teeth into the flesh with a sickening crunch, and spat a chunk directly between Arthur’s worn boots. Then, he tossed the ruined fruit onto the cold concrete floor.
"Pick it up," Kane sneered.
Arthur didn’t flinch. His silver hair stayed neatly combed; his pulse never spiked. Slowly, he placed his palms flat on the table and rose to his feet. He was shorter than Kane by a head, yet as he locked eyes with the giant, it was the younger predator who felt a subtle, icy prickle run down his spine. Arthur didn't raise his fists. He simply stared into Kane’s eyes—not with fear, not even with hatred, but with a terrifying, unyielding pity.
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"You took what wasn't yours," Arthur said softly. "And now you have to live with the taste."
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