“Height 〇〇cm, weight 〇〇kg. …You’re far too thin, Guard.”
From behind the iron bars, Wald guessed my physical measurements with perfect accuracy.
He was a genius con artist who had operated on a global scale. His powers of insight saw right through me, even beneath my uniform.
“None of your business,” I snapped coldly, but my heart was pounding against my ribs.
His eyes didn't hold the hatred or raw lust typical of other prisoners; instead, they were strangely warm and terrifyingly omniscient.
Since that day, Wald began to fret over my health daily.
“Did you eat properly yesterday?” “You look a bit pale. Don’t push yourself too hard.”
At first, I thought it was just his tactic—a way to win me over and use me for an escape.
But he never asked for anything. He simply waited quietly for me to appear and offered gentle words.
At night, when I passed his solitary cell, he would softly reach out.
His fingertips, extending through the gaps in the bars, would brush against my fingers.
It felt cold, yet intensely hot.
“Get me out of here.”
He never once said those words.
He only watched me and smiled quietly.
“I will protect your body. Even if it must be from behind these iron bars.”
A lying swindler. I couldn't tell which of his words were truth and which were lies.
And yet, I find myself squeezing his hand back.
This immoral warmth was making it impossible for me to move.