Cranham University open day

ARSON, AKA DANIEL HOYTON, AGE EIGHTEEN

I spun in a slow circle in the centre of the exercise yard—sorry, “the yard,” as our tour guide had just informed us. Barbed wire still encircled the top of the wire mesh fence surrounding the yard, although there was no need for it. Cranham University wasn’t a prison anymore. It was a university, a tiny one, really, with an extremely limited choice of degree courses. I guess they left the barbed wire up to remind you that the reason you were here was for discipline. You know, in case the giant fucking walls around the whole thing didn’t give it away. 

Grim.

What an open day. I’d gone to one of the Whelford Uni open days before this, just to torture myself with all the things I could never have, and let’s just say that the differences between that cushy place and this were stark. I hadn’t even made it inside yet. 

King nudged me. “This is where they settle disputes after hours.” His mouth curved into an evil grin, and I returned it. Maybe there were some upsides to this place after all. The pampered students of Whelford would never dream of getting their hands dirty.

Well. Lincoln fucking Bellingham would. But that was because he was the asshole son of the asshole family that we were embroiled in a dispute with. I wouldn’t mind messing up his smug face with my fists. It would probably improve it. 

The tour guide said something or other about the history of the prison, and I tuned her out. I was here to look around the place I’d be spending my next few years at, not to get a fucking history lesson.

Finally, we were ushered into the former B Wing, now named North Wing. It still housed the same cells actual prisoners had done time in, but according to our guide they’d been extensively renovated and upgraded, and they were used as private rooms for first year students. 

The door to the first cell swung open, and I peered inside, recoiling at the sight. 

Extensively renovated and upgraded? Was that a fucking joke? 

“This is worse than I thought it would be,” Jay murmured.

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©️2026 Becca Steele (unedited & subject to change