Stay Close and Keep Quiet

Stay Close and Keep Quiet

The room was suffocating with tension. Four men. Four sets of eyes bouncing between each other in absolute silence. Nobody said a word. Not a breath out of place. Jayce stood stiff, arms crossed so tight they might snap. Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees, lips pressed together, his face pale beneath the harsh fluorescent light. Dante chewed his bottom lip, brows furrowed in a perpetual scowl. And O’Neil… O’Neil sat behind his desk, one hand tapping the edge, the other resting on his thigh.

The silence was thick— almost holy. It felt as though the concrete walls were waiting to close in, as though the heavens themselves would crash down at any moment.

Then O’Neil stood.

His chair groaned backward with a sharp screech.

“It’s time,” he said, low but clear.

Ethan blinked rapidly, voice catching in his throat. “It’s time?” he murmured, as if his body had gone rigid, nerves pulsing in his jaw. “Already?”

“Yes,” O’Neil replied, marching toward the door. “We need to move fast.”

He reached for the heavy lock and turned it with a loud clank. Without wasting a second, Jayce, Ethan, and Dante shot to their feet and fell in behind him.

The hallway outside was a maze of dim flickering lights and peeling concrete walls. The distant echo of prison noise buzzed faintly, but this part of the blacksite felt dead. O’Neil led swiftly, strides long, eyes forward. They passed two guards—both of whom greeted the lieutenant with respectful nods, to which O’Neil responded with casual salutes.

Finally, they descended toward the prisoner’s wing.

As they reached the reinforced checkpoint at the entrance, a single correctional officer stood at attention— hands folded in front of him, posture rigid. The second he spotted O’Neil, he straightened further and gave a small bow.

“Lieutenant, sir. This is unexpected. We rarely see you down here.”

“Officerrrrr…” O’Neil narrowed his eyes, squinting at the name tag pinned to the man’s chest. “What’s the name again?”

“Adams, sir.”

“Ah. Adams. Sorry, it’s the eye.”

“No worries, sir. It’s an honor to finally meet you in person. I’ve heard a lot of good things.”

O’Neil extended his hand. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir,” Adams said quickly, shaking his hand with enthusiasm.

They dropped the handshake.

“Why are you still here?” O’Neil asked, his tone shifting.

“Pardon?” Adams looked puzzled.

“Your shift ended, didn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” Adams replied, clearing his throat. “I stayed back to wait for the next officers to arrive.”

O’Neil stepped past him, peering through the barred steel gate behind the checkpoint. A long corridor lined with silent cells lay beyond— completely deserted.

“So you’re the only one left?” he asked.

“Yes, sir. The others are off-duty. I volunteered to hold position until replacement arrived.”

“Well,” O’Neil said, straightening up. “You can leave now. Get some rest. The new team will be here soon.”

“I… I can’t just leave the wing unattended, sir,” Adams stammered.

“You won’t be. You’ll be leaving it with me.”

“But sir—”

“You’re not asking me. I’m offering.” O’Neil’s voice dropped half an octave, calm but final.

Adams’s resistance collapsed instantly. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it,” he said with a bright grin, nodding gratefully before heading off down the hall.

As his footsteps vanished, O’Neil let out a long exhale.

“That bastard just ate up seven minutes,” he muttered, turning to the three men behind him. “We’ve got less than eight now. Let’s go.”

He jammed a key into the steel-barred checkpoint door, the keychain jingling wildly in his hand. With a loud click, the lock yielded. The group slipped through quietly, shutting it behind them with the gentlest of hands.

Their footsteps were feather-light as they advanced down the prisoner wing hallway, each bootfall carefully placed, each breath measured. The air was stale. Still. A humming light above flickered once… then stilled.

They stopped in front of a cell marked 207.

“This is it,” O’Neil said, pulling out a different key and sliding it into the lock. As it turned, he held out a hand. “Wait here. I go in first.”

Ethan nodded once. Jayce flexed his fingers. Dante pressed his back to the wall.

O’Neil opened the door slowly and stepped inside.

A dim bulb in the ceiling barely lit the room. Cynthia sat on her cot, legs folded, one hand resting on her swollen belly— five months along. Her face was pale, eyes half-shut from exhaustion. But the moment she heard the jingle of keys and saw the door creak open, she jolted upright.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said instantly, voice hoarse with fear. “I swear—”

“I know,” O’Neil interrupted, stepping further in. “We’re here to get you out.”

Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Get me out?” she echoed, her lips trembling. “What do you mean? What’s happening?”

“Come in,” O’Neil called over his shoulder.

Ethan entered first, followed by Jayce and Dante.

The second Cynthia’s gaze landed on Ethan, her confusion doubled. Her jaw dropped, mouth open wide. “You?” she whispered. “How… how are you here? What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t have time to explain,” Ethan said quickly, closing the distance between them and grabbing her gently by the wrist. His grip was firm but trembling. “We have to go. Now.”

Cynthia’s eyes darted between them. Panic. Suspicion. But something in Ethan’s face— desperation, urgency, maybe love— made her rise to her feet without further protest.

“Okay,” she whispered.

O’Neil nodded. “Good. Stay close and keep quiet.”

They exited the cell in single file— Ethan leading Cynthia, Dante watching their rear, Jayce one step behind O’Neil.

No alarms.

No voices.

Only silence.

And the seconds ticking away.