Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 50

Zhan's Pov.

The night was colder than usual. I curled tighter into myself on the hard prison bed, my thin blanket offering little comfort. The walls felt closer somehow like they were pressing in, squeezing the last bit of air out of my lungs.

I didn't know what day it was exactly. Time didn't move normally in here. It was just a cycle of cold mornings, colder nights, and endless waiting.

But tonight... something was different.

I lay there staring at the ceiling, my fingers tracing the faint lines of the ring still hidden under my sleeve the makeshift cloth they hadn't noticed yet. I had kept it close, stubbornly, even when they stripped me of almost everything else.

Tonight, it felt warm against my skin.

I didn't know why. There was no reason for it. Wang hadn't visited. And yet... my heart ached less tonight. Like a thread had been tied between us again, thin but strong.

I squeezed my eyes shut, whispering into the darkness, "Wherever you are, Wang... please don't forget me."

A tear slipped down the side of my face.
I let it fall. There was no one to hide from anymore. No pride to protect.

I pressed the hidden ring to my lips and whispered again, "I love you."

Then I drifted into sleep, still clutching that small piece of him. Still believing, against everything, that somehow... he hadn't given up on me.

Not yet.

I was rolling on the bed until sleep finally dragged me under like an old friend I didn't trust.

When I woke up, the routine kicked in without me even thinking, sit up, stare at nothing, brood, sigh. Repeat. Every day felt like a broken record that no one bothered to fix.

But today... something was off.

A guard came to my cell, softer than usual. No smirk, no sarcasm. Just a quiet, "Come on, shower time."

He tossed me a towel and a fresh bar of soap, then handed me the clothes I was arrested in, the same ones that smelled like freedom and fear.

I blinked. "What's going on?"

"Just do what you're told," he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual edge.

In the shower, I let the water hit me longer than usual. Not because they allowed it, but because no one came to rush me. I scrubbed harder than I needed to like I could peel off the weight of the past weeks.

When I stepped out, someone handed me breakfast.

Real breakfast.

Warm bread. Eggs that weren't grey. Even tea, hot and sweet, like I used to make it.

"What's this?" I asked the officer standing guard.

He shrugged. "Orders."

My heart pounded, unsure whether to feel hope or fear. I sat down to eat, hands shaking slightly. I couldn't remember the last time I had a meal that didn't taste like punishment.

After I finished, I was led out of the cell like it was just another day, no explanation, no officer telling me why or what had changed. The metal doors clanged shut behind me, and I kept walking, half-expecting someone to drag me back in. My legs were shaky, and my heart wouldn't stop pounding.

The sun hit my face like a slap, warm, real, too bright for someone who hadn't seen the sky in weeks. I squinted, taking it in.

And then I saw him.