Chapter 3: The Broken Ledger**
Arthur was assigned to the prison library, a dusty annex tucked beneath the north wing. It was a forgotten room filled with dog-eared paperbacks and broken encyclopedias. But Arthur treated it like a sanctuary. He cataloged every torn page and bound loose spines with medical tape.
Late that afternoon, Officer Higgins stepped in, looking over his shoulder before closing the heavy steel door.
"You shouldn't have stood up to Ross, Vance," Higgins muttered, resting a hand on his holster. "He’s got nothing to lose. He’s doing life without parole."
"Everyone has something to lose, Officer," Arthur answered without looking up from an old atlas. "Even the ones who think they’re already dead."
"I pulled your sealed jacket from central records," Higgins whispered, leaning over the wooden counter. "You’ve been transferred through four federal facilities. No gang affiliation, no violence write-ups, zero disciplinary marks in twenty-five years. Who were you before they threw away the key?"
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Arthur closed the atlas with a soft thump. "I was a man who learned too late that revenge costs more than whatever was taken from you."
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