The knife is gone.
I sort of figured it would be. Someone in
the guardroom saw it lying on the floor and just picked it up, took
it away. My only weapon, such as it was. I don’t expect them to
bring me another with my meals. I just hope they don’t let Tobin
down here again—he pulls another stunt like the one he did earlier
and I’ll carve his heart out with a spoon if I have to. Fucking
queer, my ass. And they think I’m the deviant one.
I’m the one who’s behind bars here. Whatever.
Throwing myself down on the thin bunk, I
stare at the ceiling and think about Dylan—what else? My baby in
his blankets, hiding from his jailers, so eager to see me that he
tripped hurrying to touch me. What am I going to do if we get out
of here and he has to go back to his starmapping? How will I li
