Witcherly Warlock: A Harem Urban Fantasy (Prison is the New Academy Book 1) by Mac Noah

Author:Mac, Noah
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: NoahMac Publishing
Published: 2025-01-09T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

Itrudged into the Guard’s lunch hall, the fluorescent lights casting a sickly pallor over the room. My steps were heavy, each one a reminder of the weight I now carried. Draining Rebecca Davis in Level 2 had taken more than just her mana; it had siphoned a part of my soul. I slumped at a distant table with a tray of bland food, the kind that looked like it had given up on life long before it was served. The echoes of Rebecca’s illusions still lingered in my mind, flickering like a broken projector.

I poked at what was supposed to be mashed potatoes, my appetite as absent as the seasoning. The hall was a noise of clattering trays and shouted conversations, but it all washed over me in a dull roar. I was too deep in my own head to notice when Jessica Pryce sat down across from me.

“You did what you had to,” she said, her voice cutting through the fog in my brain. I looked up, meeting her piercing blue eyes. They were softer than usual, almost sympathetic. “Your drain is still more merciful than what a wraith might do.”

I wanted to believe her. The guilt gnawed at me like a rat in a cage, but her words were a small balm. Maybe, just maybe, I was saving these witches from a worse fate. I thought of Rebecca’s face as I left her cell, drained and hollow but still alive. I shoved a spoonful of something green into my mouth, hoping the texture would distract me. It didn’t.

“Thanks,” I muttered, not sure if I meant it. Jessica stood, her athletic frame casting a long shadow over the table.

“Hang in there, Drevon,” she said, and walked away.

I watched her go, wondering why she even bothered with me. The other guards saw me as a traitor, a turncoat who couldn’t be trusted. Jessica was different. She was hard, but fair. Maybe she saw something in me that I couldn’t see in myself.

The hall started to empty as the lunch hour wound down. I stayed put, not in a hurry to return to my duties. Now that I was officially labeled a prisoner/guard, the lines of my life had become a tangled mess. My criminal past, my time in county, and now this—being an awakened Witcher—had all conspired to put me here, in the last place I ever expected to be.

Dammisch Asylum was its own little world, with a social order as convoluted as any I’d seen on the streets. The guards had their cliques, and the covens of witches formed shifting alliances that were hard to track. I used my street smarts to navigate this new terrain, sizing up who was in with whom, and who had the power to make my life easier or harder.

I’d started bartering knowledge like it was contraband. A tip about an upcoming inspection here, a piece of gossip about a guard’s shift change there. It was a delicate balance; I needed to earn enough goodwill to stay alive without giving away so much that I became expendable.

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