The cell is quiet. Too quiet.

I sit on the cold floor, my knees pulled to my chest, staring at the iron bars. The silence presses down on me like a heavy blanket. It has been hours since anyone came to check on me. My stomach growls, but I ignore it. Hunger is nothing compared to the weight sitting in my chest—the weight of everyone believing I killed my mother.

I close my eyes, but instead of peace, I see her face. My mother’s gentle smile. Her voice calling me “Lyra, my little moon.” My heart twists.

“Why won’t they believe me?” I whisper to myself, my voice cracking.

I try to steady my breathing, but tears slip down my cheeks before I can stop them. I wipe them quickly. I don’t want to look weak. Not even here. Not even when no one is watching.

The silence is broken by the sound of footsteps outside. Heavy boots. The guards. My chest tightens.

The lock clanks, and the metal door groans open.

“Move,” one guard barks.

They shove someone inside. The figure stumbles forward, landing hard on the stone floor. The door slams shut again, the sound echoing like thunder in the small space.

I blink, trying to adjust to the dim light. It’s a girl. Her hair is messy, dark brown, hanging over her face. She groans and slowly pushes herself up.

For a moment, I just watch her. She looks young, maybe close to my age. Her clothes are torn, dirt smeared across her arms.

Finally, she lifts her head, and her eyes meet mine. They’re a striking gray, sharp but tired.

She scoffs softly. “Great. A roommate.”

I don’t answer right away. I don’t know who she is. I don’t know if I can trust her.

She leans back against the wall, breathing heavily. “So,” she says after a moment, her tone flat, “what are you in for?”

The question hits me like a slap. My jaw tightens.

“I didn’t do anything,” I whisper.

She lets out a short laugh. “Sure. That’s what everyone says.”

“I mean it,” I snap, louder this time. My voice echoes against the walls.

Her eyebrows raise slightly. She studies me for a long second, then shrugs. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

I glare at her, but deep down, I know I sound like every guilty person in here. I sigh and hug my knees tighter.

The girl shifts and sits across from me. “Name’s Melinda,” she says after a moment, her tone less sharp. “But most people call me Mel. Or they used to. Not sure what I am now.”

I look up at her cautiously. “Lyra.”

She nods slowly, then leans her head back against the wall. “So, Lyra, let me guess. You’re from this pack, aren’t you?”

I nod. “Yes.”

A bitter smile tugs at her lips. “Thought so. I’m not. I’m… well, I was from another pack. Not anymore. I’m an outcast now.”

Her words catch my attention. I shift a little closer. “Outcast? Why?”

She looks at me with those piercing gray eyes, her expression hard. “Because my parents made a deal they couldn’t pay back. A debt.”

“What kind of debt?” I ask, my voice soft.

“The kind that ruins everything,” she mutters. “My parents owed money, food, resources—who knows? They tried to bargain with the wrong people. They failed. And when they couldn’t pay, the punishment fell on me.”

My stomach twists. “That’s… not fair.”

She laughs bitterly. “Fair? Nothing’s fair here. You should know that by now.”

Her words cut deep. She’s right. Nothing feels fair anymore. Not my mother’s death. Not the way everyone looked at me with disgust. Not the way my family wouldn’t even meet my eyes.

“I’m sorry,” I say quietly.

Melinda shrugs, though I see the pain flicker in her eyes. “Sorry doesn’t change anything. I’m stuck here, just like you.”

Silence stretches between us for a moment. I can hear the faint drip of water somewhere in the distance.

Finally, Melinda tilts her head, her expression curious. “So, you gonna tell me your story or what?”

I hesitate. My chest feels heavy. But something about her—maybe because she’s not from my pack, maybe because she already knows what it’s like to be cast out—makes me want to talk.

I take a shaky breath. “They think I killed my mother.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa. That’s… heavy.”

“I didn’t do it,” I say quickly, my voice rising. “I would never hurt her. Never. But when they found her… when they saw me there, they just… assumed. They didn’t even ask. They just decided I was guilty.”

Melinda studies me, her gray eyes sharp, searching. “And your family? They believe it too?”

The words sting. I lower my head. “They’re… disappointed. Angry. I can see it in their faces. They didn’t defend me. Not even once.”

Melinda whistles softly. “Ouch. That’s rough.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “I keep telling them I didn’t do it. That I loved her more than anything. But it’s like my words don’t matter. Like I’m invisible.”

Melinda leans forward, her tone softer now. “Do you know who did it?”

I shake my head. “No. I wish I did. Maybe then I could prove it wasn’t me. But… all I remember is finding her. And then… everything happened so fast.”

For a moment, the cell is quiet again. Melinda doesn’t laugh, doesn’t scoff. She just looks at me, her expression unreadable.

Finally, she says, “You don’t look like a killer.”

My chest tightens, but this time, with something close to relief. “Because I’m not.”

“Yeah,” she says, leaning back. “I can tell. I’ve met killers before. They have a… look. You don’t.”

I blink at her, surprised. “You believe me?”

She shrugs. “Why not? Everyone’s got a story. Yours makes more sense than mine.”

I can’t help it—I laugh softly, though it’s shaky. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Melinda says, smirking. “I might still change my mind.”

We both laugh, though it fades quickly into silence. Still, the air feels lighter now. For the first time since I was thrown in here, I don’t feel completely alone.

I hug my knees again, but this time, I look at Melinda. “Do you think there’s any way out of this? For either of us?”

She tilts her head, thinking. “Maybe. Maybe not. But if there is, it won’t be easy. You’ll have to fight. Harder than you ever thought you could.”

Her words settle deep inside me. Fight. That’s the only option left.

I nod slowly. “Then I’ll fight. Because I didn’t kill my mother. And I’ll prove it. Somehow.”

Melinda studies me again, and then, for the first time, she smiles. Not a bitter smile, but a real one. “Good. Because if you give up now, they win. And we can’t let them win, can we?”

“No,” I say firmly. “We can’t.”

And for the first time, I believe it.