Conlan stops at the third door up the
corridor from mine, on the left. There’s a small keypad set into
the wall, and I watch as he punches in a code, 23—that’s as
much as I see before Ellington shoves in front of me, cutting off
my view. “Jeremy, watch it,” he growls as the bars slide apart.
Someone behind me pushes me through the open door.
Empty cells line either side of the
corridor. I force myself to walk naturally, fight against the voice
inside my mind that wants me to run down the corridor and peer into
every cell, call out my lover’s name until I find him. But I have
an audience, I’m not going to do that. “Last cell,” Ellington tells
me.
I ask, “Can I do this alone?”
Conlan glances up at Ellington, who shakes
his head. “I don’t think that’s going to work,” he says, bu
