Chapter 54: Suspense in a Cage
Pollsmoor’s fluorescent lights buzzed like wasps trapped in glass. Emily sat on her bunk, picking at a loose thread on her jumpsuit, counting the cracks in the ceiling for the hundredth time. The air reeked of ammonia and something deeper—fear sweat, maybe, soaked into concrete over decades.
Then footsteps. Precise. Familiar.
She looked up just as Ragnak appeared outside her cell, his shadow cutting across the bars like a blade. He carried no briefcase this time, no paperwork. Just himself, immaculate in a navy suit that made the prison’s gray walls seem even more washed-out.
Emily’s lips curled before she could stop them.
Ragnak didn’t smile back—he never did—but something in his posture softened. He lowered himself to the floor with that unsettling grace, back against the opposite wall, long legs bent at the knees. Close enough to talk. Far enough to remind her where they were.
"You came back," she said.
He tilted his head slightly. "Did you doubt?"
Emily shrugged, playing it cool, but her fingers trembled where they gripped the mattress. "People promise shit in here all the time."
Ragnak studied her—the fresh bruise on her jaw, the way she kept adjusting her sleeve to hide the scrape on her wrist. His gaze lingered a second too long. "Tell me about the fight."
"Not much to tell." She picked at her nail polish—chipped pink, two weeks old. "Some bitch thought I looked at her girlfriend wrong."
"And?"
"And now she thinks I bite." Emily flashed a grin, all teeth. It faltered when Ragnak didn’t react. She exhaled. "I held my own. Mostly."
A beat. Then Ragnak reached into his jacket pocket and slid something through the bars—a chocolate bar, slightly melted, the wrapper crinkled.
Emily stared. "How the fuck—?"
"Security has a sweet tooth." His tone gave nothing away.
She unwrapped it with reverent fingers, breaking off a square. The sugar hit her tongue like a memory. Outside. Sunshine. Normalcy. Her throat tightened.
Ragnak watched her savor it before speaking again. "The others ask about you."
Emily paused mid-chew. "Bullshit."
"Mia thinks you’d like Muizenberg. Ava wants to take you to her favorite spice market." He listed them off like diagnoses. "Kungawo hacked the prison’s visitor logs to expedite your appeal. Enzo’s drafting letters to three judges."
Emily swallowed hard. "Why?"
"Because you’re one of them."
The chocolate turned to ash in her mouth. She set it aside. "They don’t know me."
Ragnak leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees. "They know enough."
A guard’s radio crackled down the hall. Someone coughed. Emily traced the scars on Ragnak’s knuckles—fine, silvery lines, like he’d punched through glass too many times.
"What’re they like?" she asked quietly.
"Loud." His lips twitched—almost a smile. "Kungawo codes in his sleep. Enzo alphabetizes his sock drawer. Ava hums when she cooks."
Emily snorted. "Sounds like a shitty sitcom."
"Sometimes."
"And Mia?"
Ragnak went still. "Mia bleeds for strangers."
Emily understood that. She’d seen it in the ER nurses during her one hospital visit—that bone-deep need to fix what was broken, even when it cost you.
She pulled her knees to her chest. "You really think I could… be part of that?"
The question hung between them, fragile as the candy wrapper in her palm.
Ragnak studied her—not the bruises or the prison jumpsuit, but *her*. The girl who still painted her nails pink. Who bit back. Who hoped.
"You already are," he said.
Emily’s breath hitched. She looked away first, blinking fast. "What are my chances of being chosen?"
A pause. Then, softer than she’d ever heard him: "I wouldn’t want to ruin the suspense."
She laughed—a real one, bright and surprised—and for a second, the walls didn’t feel so close.
The moment stretched. Somewhere, a door clanged shut. Reality seeped back in.
Emily wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Thank you for coming back," she murmured. "For making me feel like a… person again."
Ragnak stood in one fluid motion, straightening his cuffs. "You never stopped being one."
=====
Emily caught his wrist as he turned to leave, her fingers pressing into his pulse point. The skin there was warmer than she expected, the vein beneath thrumming steady as a metronome. "Wait."
Ragnak stilled. The fluorescent light cut shadows under his cheekbones, turning his face into something carved from marble.
She slid off the bunk to the concrete floor, the chill seeping through her jumpsuit. They were eye-level now, separated only by iron bars. Her knee brushed one as she shifted closer. "You didn't answer my question."
His exhale was barely audible. "Which one?"
"The one about whether I'm getting out." She licked her lips, tasted salt and stolen chocolate. "Don't bullshit me. Not now."
Ragnak's fingers twitched against hers. For a heartbeat, she thought he'd pull away. Then he lowered himself back to the floor in one fluid motion, his shoulder blades meeting the opposite wall. The position should've looked awkward—a man in a five-thousand-rand suit sitting in prison grime—but he made it seem deliberate. Like kneeling at an altar.
"I'm trying to get you out, you know."
The words landed between them like a dropped scalpel. Emily's breath caught.
He wasn't looking at her anymore, staring instead at the security camera blinking red in the corner. "But I didn't want to give you false hope. I wanted to tell you when I was absolutely sure I could do it." His jaw worked. "...My mission here ends in five days. I don't know if I have enough time, Em."
The nickname slipped out raw, unguarded. Emily's chest tightened. "Did you just call me 'Em'?"
Ragnak blinked. Like he hadn't realized. "...Yeah. I guess I did."
Somewhere down the hall, a faucet dripped. The sound echoed like a ticking clock.
Emily reached through the bars, threading her fingers with his. His palm was calloused in unexpected places—the base of his fingers, the heel of his hand. Surgeon's hands. Killer's hands. Hands that had brought her chocolate and remembered how she took her coffee.
They looked at each other. Really looked. The scar above his eyebrow, the faint spray of freckles across her nose that no prison pallor could erase.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."
Ragnak's thumb brushed her knuckle—once, twice. Then he was moving, surging forward, his free hand cupping the back of her head through the bars. Their mouths crashed together, messy and desperate.
Emily gasped into the kiss. He tasted like expensive whiskey and something darker, metallic. Like the blade he carried strapped to his thigh. Her fingers scrabbled against his collar, dragging him closer until the bars dug into her ribs.
Someone coughed down the corridor. They broke apart, breathing ragged.
Ragnak's pupils were blown wide, his lips slick. For the first time since she'd met him, he looked... unraveled. Human.
Emily touched her swollen mouth. "Wow."
The corner of his lip twitched. "That wasn't part of the plan."
"Fuck your plan." She grinned, giddy. "Do it again."
He did. Slower this time, lingering at the corner of her mouth before sealing their lips together. Emily's toes curled in her slip-on sneakers. When he pulled back, his breathing was steady again—but his grip on her hand was vise-tight.
"Five days," he murmured against her temple.
Emily nodded. She didn't ask for promises. Didn't need them. The kiss was enough. For now.
The guard's footsteps grew louder. Ragnak stood in one smooth motion, straightening his tie. By the time the beefy uniform rounded the corner, he was all sharp angles and colder-than-ice composure again.
"Visiting hours are over," the guard grunted.
Ragnak didn't argue. Just nodded once at Emily—a silent promise—before turning on his heel.
Emily watched him go, the ghost of his lips still burning on hers.
Five days.
She touched the chocolate wrapper in her pocket, folding it carefully along the creases. Outside the tiny window, the first stars blinked awake.
Somewhere beyond the razor wire, a car engine purred to life.