The prison didn't try to look like anything else. Cinderblock, bar, bolt. Air that had learned to behave. Keys that judged.
A guard led me down the short corridor to the last cell on the right. The window was a rectangle of orange light. Sunset had found a way in and decided to stay five more minutes.
Jones stood when he heard my boots. He looked smaller without title, bigger without armor. Clean shirt. Split lip faded to a line. Eyes that had learned new vocabulary in twenty-four hours—remand, chain of custody, indictment.
“Alpha," he said automatically, then corrected himself with a wince. “Isabella."
“Jones," I said. Names are honest when they're simple.
The guard stepped back to the door and pretended to nap with one eye open. The corridor hummed with nobody.
Jones wrapped his fi
