The Warden of The Witches

Prison Visit

"You're Silaine's nephew?"

Entering the interview room with a glass window riddled with holes, Aiden saw a youthful boy, appearing no more than sixteen or seventeen, the only distinct feature being a scar on his face.

He refrained from taking the seat in front of the window, reserved for prisoners, and had no intention of engaging in a lengthy conversation. As the warden, he typically avoided direct meetings with inmates' relatives to avoid suspicion.

"Are you... in charge here?" The young man seemed somewhat nervous.

"Yes, I'm the warden. What's your connection to Silaine? As far as we know, she doesn't have a nephew."

"I-I'm... a friend of her son," the boy stammered.

Aiden sensed the unnatural tension in the boy's demeanor, observing the scar on his face. Considering Silaine's son's background, he suddenly grasped some details.

"A friend from the syndicate?" Aiden ventured to guess.

The boy slightly widened his eyes and admitted, "Yes, we're good brothers."

As Aiden had suspected, the young man was also affiliated with the underworld. The reason for his evident nervousness likely stemmed from his current attire.

"So, you're taking care of her because her son? Quite the loyality. But Silaine is currently in solitary confinement. According to regulations, no visits are allowed. It's pointless for you to approach me," Aiden stated, crossing his arms.contemporary romance

"She's in solitary because..." The boy hesitated.

"Didn't the prison guard inform you? She attempted to attack another inmate. Since you know her, you should be aware of the reason she's in prison," Aiden replied.

"She still wants to kill Miss Carmilla..." The boy lowered his gaze, his voice tinged with melancholy.

"Hmm?" Aiden sensed something amiss.

Considering the boy's connection as Silaine's son's friend in the syndicate, he should hold resentment towards Carmilla, the one who allegedly killed his friend.

However, his tone and address indicated otherwise—no apparent animosity toward Carmilla.

"Uh..." The young man quickly regained composure, "So, when can I see her? Also, I brought some money and items..."

"She's in solitary for six more days. Come back next week. You can't bring anything in now, and, well... it doesn't make much sense at the moment. Just hold on to them," Aiden responded in a business-like tone. "Also I need to tell you something. Her time is running out."

The boy stood up, alarmed. "Execution?"

"No, it's her own time limit. The black magic that transformed her into this state, who was neither human nor ghost, is reaching its limit. She'll disappear from this world in less than two months," Aiden explained to the stunned youth. "If you still plan to see her, it's better to do it sooner."

"......" The boy stood there, speechless.

"That's it for today. Go back," Aiden conveyed the crucial information and left the interview room.

"Wait!" The boy hurriedly stopped Aiden, the words spilling out involuntarily.

"What else?" Aiden turned back.

The boy hesitated, a look of wanting to say something but holding back. After a while, he swallowed his words. "It's... nothing."

Aiden left the interview room directly. On the other side of the glass curtain wall, the boy with a lowered head walked out slowly, the memories was resurfacing in his blank mind.

"Sis, these are the two guys, caught red-handed sneaking into the warehouse," a man's rough voice echoed in the dimly lit warehouse.

In the dim warehouse, several fierce men surrounded two bound teenagers.

Forced to kneel on the ground, they faced a large wooden crate, and the person in charge sat on the crate, passing judgment from above.

A high-ranking member of the Blood Hand Gang, Carmilla.

"Daring to mess with what I've got my eyes on, these two rookies really underestimate me," Carmilla said, a hand-rolled cigarette dangling from her mouth. She leisurely struck a match and lit the cigarette.

Carmilla taunted the two, calmly blowing smoke rings. The teenagers kept their heads down, fully aware that their fate now rested in the hands of this person.

They were from the "Skull" gang in the old district, a rivals of the Blood Hand Gang, coerced by their cadres to spy on the goods stored in this warehouse.

Today is the day their great misfortune unfolds.

To ensure sufficient intimidation, gangs rarely show mercy to members of rival factions who fall into their hands. Having eyes gouged out, losing an ear, or being sent back with missing limbs is a common occurrence.

Alternatively, they might simply evaporate from this world, leaving no trace of their existence.

From the start, they were discarded pawns within their own gang, mere expendables at the bottom of the hierarchy.

"You, how old are you?" Carmilla asked nonchalantly.

The two teenagers exchanged glances, completely unaware of the significance of the question.

"Are you Deaf!?" Carmilla impatiently glared as both remained silent.

"Fif-fifteen..." "Fifteen."

They hastily responded.

"Hmph, little brats who haven't even grown proper hair." Carmilla disdainfully spat, "Playing gangsters here? Do you think being in the underworld is cool? Huh?"

One boy lowered his head, not daring to speak, while the other hesitated and said, "I just... wanted to cure my mom's illness."

"I told you to speak!" Suddenly, Carmilla kicked the talking boy's shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

"Sis, how should we deal with these two brats?" a gang member asked.

Carmilla, still smoking, looked at the boy on the ground enduring the pain without making a sound. She kicked the other one to the ground as well.

"Throw them out, let them roll! I have no interest in weaklings. Spending time dealing with these little rodents is a waste," Carmilla impatiently pronounced judgment.

The two fallen boys glanced at each other, unable to believe their ears.

"Trash should know their place. Go home and suck your mom's milk! If I see you again, I'll gouge your eyes out." Carmilla finished, tossing the cigarette on the ground and stamping it out.

When the boy came to his senses, he found himself standing at the prison gate.

What should he do?

He wondered in his mind.

In hesitation, he noticed an iron mailbox placed at the prison entrance.

"Warden... mailbox?" Staring at the painted letters, the boy froze in place.

done.co