Author P.O.V.
..................... in the Capital City at the Westend International Prison
As Tristian walked into his new cell occupied just by himself. He felt a small sense of relief not having to worry about a cellmate.
Every scratch on the wall, every faded mark was a testament to those who had come before him. He traced the scars of the past with his fingers, wondering about the stories they held. In these silent witnesses, he found a strange comfort, a sense of connection to a brotherhood of suffering that transcended time and space.
The toilet sat in the corner of the cell, exposed and unsheltered, a constant reminder of his lack of privacy. Even in his most private moments, he felt the weight of invisible eyes, stripping away any illusion of solitude.
The cell was barely wi
