Chapter Two — Dogs of Iron
The east wing smelled of sweat, rust, and fear. Kaito stepped into the narrow corridor, every sound amplified: the scrape of boots, the clatter of chains, the low murmur of inmates sizing him up. The walls were scarred with scratches and crude symbols. Some were warnings. Some were prayers. All of them were claims of survival.
A group of men lounged near the mess hall entrance, eyes sharp and cruel. One of them, a giant of a man with a crooked nose and a face full of scars, rose to his feet. "New kid?" he asked, voice rough like gravel. "Number nine? That right?"
Kaito didn't flinch. He met the man's gaze evenly, calm, quiet, calculating. "That's me," he said. No fear. No bravado. Just fact.
The man grinned, sharp teeth flashing. "Good. You'll need that in here."
He was right. Kaito quickly learned the rules. Every man had a price, every glance a motive. Friends were currency, trust a liability. A wrong move and the consequences weren't just bruises—they were permanent, etched into flesh or memory.
Meanwhile, in the north wing, Shadow was thriving in chaos. The first fight came quickly—a man with a cleaver lunged at him, eyes wide with hunger. Shadow didn't hesitate. His fists moved faster than thought, each strike precise, brutal. He walked away with no scratches, the man left groaning in the bloodied corner. The inmates whispered his name like a spell: "Shadow…"
Kaito watched from his cot at night as the prison pulsed around him. He wrote down observations, memorized patrol routes, cataloged weaknesses. Every movement of guards and inmates alike told a story, if you knew how to read it.
By the third day, Kaito had noticed the subtle patterns: a vent that rattled before someone passed, a corridor where cameras never seemed to point, whispers of an underground network called The Veil, which supposedly controlled everything that happened in Black Veil.
He didn't know what to make of it yet. All he knew was survival—strategy over strength, patience over fury.
Shadow returned to the east wing that evening, slipping through shadows to find Kaito. His smirk was wider than usual, smeared with dirt and dried blood. "You should see me in there," he said, eyes glinting. "They think I'm untouchable."
Kaito allowed a faint smile. "Careful," he warned. "You draw attention. Here, attention is dangerous."
Shadow shrugged. "I like dangerous."
That night, Kaito traced the glowing sigil on his wrist, its faint pulse like a heartbeat of its own. He couldn't shake the feeling that the prison was watching him, learning him, testing him. Shadow would laugh at his paranoia, but Kaito didn't care. He had to be ready.
Black Veil was more than iron and stone. It was alive, and it was hungry. And the brothers—storm and shadow, fire and calm—were only just beginning to understand what it meant to survive inside its jaws.