Chapter 14: Cell 47

Chapter 14: Cell 47

The Atlantic Ocean prison had its own hierarchy. A cruel one, carved by blood, scars, and fear. Audrey was still learning it. Still learning the way people looked at her like she was a walking curse. Still learning the way whispers followed her:

“That’s the girl who killed a billionaire.”

“Heartless gold digger.”

“She murdered her husband on their wedding night.”

"She married his son here."

It didn’t matter that none of it was true. She woke every morning with new bruises. She slept every night listening to screams echoing down the stone corridors. And she carried one truth like a stone pressing into her ribs, Tennessee was gone. For a minute, he had been the thin thread holding her sanity together. Her shield, her only friend.

She had learned something from Tennessee before he disappeared:

In this place, survival meant aligning yourself with power. There was one inmate the entire prison feared.

Thomas. The assassin of six countries, the phantom hitman. The monster in Cell 47. Rumor said he once killed a guard by blinking in another state. Rumor said he spoke to no one. Rumor said he had no heart at all. Rumor said he’d tear you apart before breakfast if you breathed wrong.

Audrey swallowed her fear and approached his cell 47. His personal guards whom were also inmates, unlocked the iron door and shoved her inside the training yard. She stumbled but caught herself quickly.

There he was, tattoos climbed across his arms and vanished beneath the collar of his black prison shirt. His hair was shaved close, his jaw sharp enough to cut wind, and his eyes were cold, grey, merciless. He was punching a sandbag tied with chains. Each blow sounded like thunder.

Audrey approached slowly. Her heart was trying to crawl up her throat.

“Um… hi,” she said softly.

Thomas didn’t look at her, not even a glance.

She cleared her throat. “My name is Audrey.”

She took another step, rubbing her hands together. “You probably heard of me.”

The sandbag shook violently under his fists.

Audrey swallowed. “I—I came to make peace. I don’t want trouble here. And you… you seem like someone who doesn’t like trouble either.”

He stopped punching. Air froze. Slowly, deliberately, Thomas turned his head and looked at her. Her breath left her lungs. His eyes were dead. Empty. Like looking into storm clouds that held no rain.

“Leave,” he said simply.

Audrey stepped back slightly, but she forced herself not to run.

“I just want to talk...”

“Leave." His voice didn’t rise.

She turned and rushed away, her heart pounding painfully.

That was attempt number one.

Attempt two happened during mealtime.

Audrey carried her tray which only had watery soup and a stale piece of bread and scanned the cafeteria. Inmates glared at her. Some whispered. Some threw food. One woman hissed something about Izo’s blood staining the walls. Audrey ignored them.

Thomas sat alone in the far corner, eating calmly. She walked over.

“Hi again,” she said lightly.

He didn’t blink.

She sat down anyway. A group of men two tables away snorted with laughter, nudging each other.

“You’re crazy,” one muttered.

“She’s dead,” another whispered.

“Thomas is gonna snap her neck.”

Audrey ignored them and clasped her tray tightly.

“I’m not here to bother you. I’m here because… because I need an ally.”

Thomas’s jaw twitched. “I’m not your ally.”

“A friend then,” Audrey whispered.

Thomas slowly turned his head toward her.

“Audrey Hepburn Whitmore,” he said her full name, voice low and dangerous. “I don’t do friends.”

Audrey’s breath caught.

“So go.”

She stared for a moment, part fear, part defiance then rose slowly and walked away.

Attempt two: failed.

Attempt three came two days later.

He was in the yard again, running drills. Heavy push ups. Climbs. Kicking a metal post repeatedly until dents appeared. His body was a machine honed by violence.

Audrey approached, hugging herself tightly.

“I’m not leaving until you hear me,” she said, voice trembling but determined.

Thomas didn’t stop training, sweat glistened on his skin as he lifted himself off the ground in a brutal set of pull ups.

Audrey stepped closer.

“I don’t have anyone. Everyone here hates me. They want to hurt me. Tennessee is gone. I’m all alone...I didn't kill Izo.”

Thomas dropped from the bar and landed silently. He turned. She forced herself not to look away from his cold gaze.

“I heard you were a hitman,” she whispered. “The best. The most dangerous.”

“That supposed to impress me?” he said flatly.

“No,” she said quickly. “It tells me you know how to survive. And I want to survive too.”

Thomas stared.

Audrey backed up a little.

“I’m not asking for much. I just want to survive. Please… please don’t hate me like the others.”

He didn’t speak, he walked past her. Audrey’s heart fell. Then as he moved by, she whispered, “Please. I need a friend.”

Thomas stopped. Her breath hitched. Then he said quietly, without looking back.

“Last warning. Leave me alone.” And he walked away.

Attempt three: crushed.

Attempt four was the worst.

The worst because Audrey was desperate now. Ever since Tennessee vanished, inmates grew bolder. Women stole her food. A man tried dragging her into a dark hallway. The rest laughed. Audrey barely escaped with a ripped shirt and scratches up her arms.

She couldn’t survive like this, so she went to him again. This time he was practicing strikes against a padded wall, each punch sounding like bone cracking against bone. Audrey stood a few feet away trembling.

“Thomas…” she whispered.

He ignored her.

She clasped her shaking hands. “I-I want to learn. Please teach me.”

Audrey stepped closer.

“Teach me how to fight. How to protect myself. Please.”

Thomas’s fist froze mid air, the air tightened. Slowly, he turned, sweat rolling down his temples.

“Why?” he asked.

His voice was low, suspicious. As if she were a trap.

Audrey swallowed. “Because I’m weak. I’m tired of being weak. I can’t keep crying. I can’t keep crawling. I want to survive. I want to… I want to stop being scared.”

Thomas stepped toward her.

Audrey’s breath stuttered.

“You think training makes you strong?” he asked.

“I don’t know but I have to try,” she whispered.

He looked her over, eyes scanning her bruises, her trembling fingers, her torn sleeves. Then his expression hardened.

“No.”

Audrey’s eyes widened. “W-Why not?”

“Because you’ll die before you learn anything.”

He picked up a towel, wiping his neck.

“And I don’t train people who cry.”

She flinched. "I’m not...”

“You’re crying right now.”

Audrey pressed

her fingers under her eyes. Tears. Of course. She hated herself for it.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Leave,” he said again, turning away from her.

Her last attempt had failed and she had no idea what to do next.