Anything had to be better than solitary confinement.
Simon studied his new cellmates. Some gave him nothing more than a fleeting glance, while a few glared with open suspicion. Others remained frozen in place, statues with only the slightest indication of life.
His lips burned where they had touched hers. He shut his eyes, his gut replaying the dropping sensation he experienced when she kissed him back. The cell reeked, a mixture of human waste and rampant infection, but somewhere in the back of his mind flitted the scent of Mrs. Stern’s roses. As the barred door locked behind him, he kept his eyes warily on the other prisoners.
“Brother Simon?” The voice was hoarse, gravelly. The speaker was short, but his skinniness couldn’t mask his wide, sturdy build. His white hair flopped down in
