I wasn’t sure how long we’d been here in the gym, but it felt like the entire day had crawled past without us moving. Morning had bled into afternoon, then afternoon into evening, and still Coban and Leo kept at it – sweat dripping off them as they punished their bodies with rep after rep, set after set, machine after machine.

They barely said a word to us, just grunts, curses, the clang of iron plates hitting the rack, and the rhythmic thud of their fists against the bags. Other men had filtered in and out over the hours, their eyes sometimes lingering on Cara and me before moving on. A few smirked, a few sneered… but most knew better than to look for long with Coban and Leo nearby. Still, every second spent sitting in the corner made me hyperaware of just how exposed we were.

Cara, ever determined to keep busy, had turned her attention to me. “Let me braid your hair,” she said suddenly, sliding onto the bench behind me.

I sighed, pushing damp strands off my forehead. “You just want something to do with your hands.”

“Exactly,” she grinned, already tugging the elastic from her wrist. “And because I noticed how bouncy and fabulous it looked yesterday compared to today. What happened? Didn’t even bother brushing it?”

Heat crawled up my neck. “I… left the cell this morning with it still wet and knotted, after my shower. I didn’t think it mattered – especially after what happened this morning…”

“It matters,” she muttered knowingly, already parting sections of my hair with quick fingers. “Trust me. A good braid fixes everything.”

I let out a laugh under my breath, though my chest was tight. I could feel Coban from across the room, even without looking, his heavy presence, the shadow he always cast over me now, even while his back was turned.

Cara worked quietly for a moment, and just when I thought she’d leave it at that, her voice dipped low. “So…” Her fingertips brushed the back of my neck, featherlight. “Are you going to tell me how bad they are?”

My breath hitched. “Cara…”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean,” she pressed, her tone softer now but stubborn as ever. “The marks, Margot. He did that to you. And you’ve been dodging details all day. I want to know how bad.”

I swallowed hard, my throat aching even as the memory of his hands around it flared hot and raw in my mind.

“They’re… bad,” I admitted in a whisper. “Purple. Ugly. In the exact shape of his fingers, like he branded me. Like proof.” My voice cracked. “If I showed you, you’d see his whole hand carved into my skin. Wicked. Like he wanted everyone to know.”

Cara froze for half a heartbeat, the strands of my hair slipping through her fingers. Then she gave a sharp inhale, pulling them back together with a renewed intensity.

“Jesus, Margot.”

“I didn’t want to talk about it,” I whispered, hugging my arms around myself. “I didn’t want you looking at me differently. I didn’t want…” My eyes flicked toward Coban without meaning to. He was on the bench press now, Leo spotting him, both of them slick with sweat and muscle and rage. My stomach turned. “…I didn’t want him to see you staring.”

Cara’s fingers moved again, braiding tighter, her silence weighted with things she didn’t say. Until finally;

“You realise how fucked up this is, right? That you’re sitting here, hiding bruises like… like a girl who snuck out to see her boyfriend and doesn’t want her parents to find out?” Her tone was sharp now, cutting through the noise of clashing weights. “Except he’s not your boyfriend, Margot. He’s your inmate. And he nearly killed you.”

I winced, shame burning my face.

“I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She tugged a little too hard, like the braid itself was punishment. “Because you’re still looking at him. Like right now. You keep watching him like you’re… like you’re waiting for something more… for something in him to change.”

I sucked in a shaky breath, caught in the truth of her words.

She wasn’t wrong. I was waiting.

For what, though? For him to snap again? For him to prove me stupid for forgiving him? Or… for that flicker I’d seen earlier – the crack in his bad boy act, the smallest glimmer of relief when I’d said the words I forgive you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, but isn’t this whole project about change? Maybe he can change for the better if I just give him a chance?” I admitted, my voice small.

Cara tied off the braid with a snap of her elastic, spinning me gently to face her. Her eyes burned, fierce and worried. “Then you need to figure it out, Margot. Fast. Because whatever this is between you two? It’s dangerous. And it’s only going to get worse if he doesn’t work on getting it under control.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but my words died as Coban dropped the barbell with a heavy thud that made the whole rack rattle. His head snapped toward us, sweat dripping down his temples, chest heaving like a storm.

For a terrifying second, I thought he’d overheard every word.

His stare landed on me, dark and sharp, and I felt pinned, exposed, like he’d already known exactly what we’d been saying. My throat tightened against the bruises, and I quickly glanced down, avoiding his eyes.

Cara’s hand found mine beneath the bench, squeezing.

“Dangerous men,” she whispered again.

And this time, I didn’t argue.

Cara squeezed my hand again, her braid work finished, her eyes narrowed as she glanced across the room at the men.

“You see that?” she murmured, leaning close. “They don’t even stop to breathe. It’s like they’re training for war.”

“Maybe they are,” I whispered back, though my voice cracked.

The truth was, watching Coban train was like watching violence take its true form. Every punch he threw into the bag made me flinch, because I could still feel the weight of his hands around my neck. My body remembered before my mind could push it away.

And yet, shamefully, I couldn’t look away.

There was something magnetic about him, something in the way his body moved like he was carrying a thousand unspoken things and unleashing them one strike at a time. He scared me, yes. But he drew me in too, and that contradiction was eating me alive.

Cara must have noticed the way my eyes strayed again, because she gave a dramatic little sigh.

“You really are hopeless,” she muttered.

I snapped my head toward her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I fear that you’re already in love with a psycho…”

Heat rushed to my cheeks as Cara laughed a little – still meaning what she said. “It’s not like that.”

“Well whatever it is, just be careful… I don’t want to see you hurt again,” she admitted, as I nodded.

Hopefully…