The common bathroom was barely large enough for the 25 prisoners crammed inside. The air was filled with the stench of sweat, blood, and something metallic. The walls were stained with rust and grime, the flickering fluorescent lights casting long, jagged shadows. The young man—who was dragged by them—was shoved into the center of the circle, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he stumbled, his knees hitting the cold, wet floor.
Xavier stood at the edge of the crowd, his fingers curling into fists. He had a faint idea of what was about to happen, but the reality of it was still too monstrous to fully grasp.
A young werewolf, her golden eyes flickering in the dim light, leaned toward Xavier. "You know what's happening?"
Xavier shook his head.
The werewolf's lips curled into a grimace. "I got here a week ago. Every night, thirty cells open. We gather. We play. We fight. We chill." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Then the chime rings. And we vote on one of the three cells."
