The Prison Project (by Bethany Donaghy) novel Chapter 86

Margot’s POV

The large hall had thinned out considerably over the last fifteen minutes.

What had once been a crowd buzzing with confusion, nerves, and the faint hope of spa treatments was now a scattered collection of girls sitting alone or in awkward, whispered pairs.

One by one, names had been called. Some girls returned quickly and breezed past with wide eyes and jittery relief. Others hadn’t yet returned at all.

Cara had been called not long ago, about a quarter of an hour, maybe more, and with every passing second, the pit in my stomach grew a little tighter.

My leg bounced nervously, foot tapping against the pristine white floor.

stared at the screen at the front of the hall that now played gentle music, soft piano chords, probably meant to soothe us, but it only made the silence in the room feel louder.

God, what if they hated my report? What if they could somehow see through the parts I had tried to soften about Coban? What if he got punished because of me?

No. It’s all going to be fine…

I reminded myself to breathe, slowly, deliberately, just as Cara had told me to when we first got here.

And then, finally,

“Margot Belle?”

I looked up so fast I felt the muscle in my neck twitch. A woman in a navy blue co–ord stood at the far end of the room with a clipboard pressed against her chest and a smile that – thank God – seemed genuinely kind.

I stood up quickly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear as I crossed the space between us. “Hi, yes, I’m Margot.”

“Right this way, dear,” she said in a warm tone, already turning on her heel and leading me toward a corridor off to the side. The clicking of her sensible heels echoed through the hallway,

I stole a glance at her. Sleek ponytail, fresh makeup, name badge that read: KIRA, Programme Coordinator. She looked no older than thirty, but moved with the polished ease of someone who’d worked here long enough to be comfortable in her power.

Still, she didn’t carry the same cold, clinical detachment most of the other staff had worn like armor.

Lucky me. At least I didn’t get the bald guy with the sour face who barked at the girl before me like she was late for a court hearing.

We came to a door labeled Interview Room 9, and she opened it with a light touch, gesturing for me to step inside.

The room was smaller than I expected. Quiet, softly lit. A desk with two chairs sat at the center. A mounted screen hung down in front of the chair closest to the wall. A keyboard waited just below it.

“This is simple today,” Kira said, her voice calm and breezy. “Since it’s only your first week, everything is done digitally. You’ll be providing your weekly evaluation via the screen here.”

I nodded, glancing at the screen, then back at her.

“You just need to answer each question as fully and honestly as you can. I’ll be here to make sure you’ve completed everything thoroughly before we mark it as complete. Sound easy enough?”

“Yeah,” I said, sliding into the chair with a relieved sigh. “Sounds perfect, actually.”

She gave me a reassuring smile and took her place across from me, pulling a tablet from her clipboard and tapping a few things into it.

“So… your inmate is five–hundred?” she asked, casually scanning her screen. “Coban Santorelli, is that correct?”

A tiny flutter ran through my chest at the sound of his name. “Yes. That’s right.”

“Perfect,” she said, and tapped the last key.

The screen in front of me flickered to life. A white screen bloomed, and text filled the page in a clean, bold font.

Weekly Inmate Evaluation: Week One

Inmate #500 Coban Santorelli

–

‘Please describe your initial encounter with the inmate:‘

I stared at the first question for a second too long.

Images of that first day rushed back with more vivid clarity than I expected. The tension in my chest, the dumb bright pink uniform I had stood in, the way Coban had looked at me like I was something he hadn’t ordered and didn’t know what to do with… demanding that I change colours like it was the most important thing on earth…

‘There is potential for emotional growth, but I believe he requires trust and structure in order to feel safe enough to be vulnerable with anyone. I’ve seen moments where he let his guard down, even if only briefly, before he quickly puts up a wall again.‘

I exhaled and pressed submit again.

–

The rest of the questions rolled out like that some easier than others:

‘Do you feel safe in your shared space?‘

‘Do you believe this individual is capable of reform?‘

I answered carefully, choosing my words like stepping stones across a river I wasn’t sure I could swim…

Finally, the last screen appeared:

‘Would you like to continue in The Prisoner Project for another week?

Yes/No‘

I didn’t hesitate.

Yes.

With a deep breath, I hit the final submit button.

The screen faded to black.

Across from me, Kira looked up from her tablet and smiled. “You’re all set, Margot. Thank you.”