Swamp Murder

Swamp Murder. 64

ZHAN

I'm lying in the infirmary bed, chewing slowly through a protein bar that tastes like dust and artificial vanilla, watching the IV drip tick down drop by drop. My eyes are half-closed, but I'm not asleep.

I'm drifting.

My thoughts, as usual, go to Wang.

To his mouth. His laugh. His weight over me. The way he whispered "I've got you" like it was a promise, not a moment.

I imagine us in a room without locks. A place where he doesn't have to sneak in or sneak out. Where I can kiss him without flinching at every footstep outside the door. Where he's not divided between orders and desire, loyalty and shame.

I imagine his lips on my shoulder again. His fingers lacing through mine. Us lying in sunlight, not under buzzing fluorescents.

I don't fully understand what just happened.

One moment, I'm half-daydreaming in the infirmary bed, replaying Wang's fingers on my skin. The next, Wang's mother walks in like she owns the place—head high, eyes sharp, wrapped in a tailored coat like she's stepping off a runway of power.

"Let's go to the warden's office," she says, clipped and cold, like we've interrupted something beneath her.

Wang doesn't flinch. He reaches for my IV without hesitation, removes the drip clean, and helps me up.

We trail behind them like shadows—he steady, I stunned.

The smell hits me first—burnt coffee and fake lemon cleaner. Like it's trying to cover something rotten.

Wang's parents take their seats across from the warden, and I hang back with Wang, my back against the wall, trying to stay invisible.

But I can feel the shift in the room. It's not just confrontation. It's exposure.

Wang's mother speaks like a scalpel, slicing through the warden's small talk, his smirking lies, until the man's crumbling. Sweat at his collar, fingers twitching around his cup. It's brutal. Surgical.

When we stepped into the infirmary, it felt different.

The lights were low, but not in that sterile, humming way I'd grown used to. There was... warmth. Like someone had shifted the atmosphere just slightly.

And then I saw them.

Dre, perched on the edge of a cot, practically vibrating with fear, his boyfriend beside him, trying to look composed but failing miserably. Their faces lit up the second they saw me.

"You're back!" Dre practically shouted, then immediately hushed himself when a nurse walked past. He darted over anyway, grin wide.

What's happening, why are we here? He asks.

You won't believe what just happened." I say, still in shock.

He glanced at Wang, then back at me, wary. "What?"

My eyes flick to Wang, then to Dre and his boyfriend as he walks to stand beside him. "My man's mom just flipped the entire game board."

What are you talking about? Ezra asks.

I continue, my tone sharp, but tinged with excitement: "She walked out of the warden's office like she owned the place. Took files. Actual files. Names. Records. You don't just do that unless you're untouchable."

"Files of who?" Dre asks.

I lower my voice, my grin becoming something more dangerous. "Of everyone who was wrongfully locked up in here... and everyone who put us here. She's got leverage."