"Guards don't care what happens in here after lights out," his cellmate whispered. "Long as you're alive for count in the morning, they don't ask questions about bruises. So here's how this works, you do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you, or your first night here gets a whole lot worse than it needs to be."
The cell door clanged open again before Lin Feng could process this threat. Two more men entered, transfers from another section, apparently, being moved into this already cramped space. The first man was in his forties, lean and hard-looking, with scars across his knuckles that spoke of extensive fighting experience. The second was younger, maybe early thirties, but his eyes carried the kind of cold calculation that came from years of surviving in places like this.
They both stopped when they saw Lin Feng. Then slow, terrible recognition spread across their faces, followed immediately by expressions of savage satisfaction.
