The day of work ended with the slam of a jail cell door, sealing Ragnar in his den of darkness until the early morning. The clicking of the lock tolled the bell of his sentence, another day ticked off from his servitude of uncertain, potentially never-ending, duration.
Choi had been right; they searched him on the way back to his cell.
For a moment, Ragnar stood lost in little less than three metres of square space. He considered how he had got there, how he had become estranged from a life he had been prepared for the last twenty-four years to live, and the few seconds of self-introspection glimpsed a horrible truth.
He had given it all up for this.
“Hey,” he heard from Lieutenant Ziedik’s cell. “You there?”
Ragnar wrenched himself free from his torment and approached the cell door.
