Page 19 of Omega's Fever

“His wrists are bleeding,” Antonini offers.

That gets a glance. The guard’s eyes narrow at the rust-brown stains on my cuffs. “Fighting?”

“Vigorous attorney-client consultation,” Woods supplies with a smirk.

The processing guard’s expression doesn’t change. He’s seen everything twice and stopped caring somewhere around the first time. “Strip search, then medical can take a look.”

I know the drill. The jumpsuit comes off and the guards go through their routine. Bend, spread, cough.

“Wow, he really did get some.” The searching guard whistles low. “Still got scratch marks.”

Heat crawls up my neck.

“Must have been quite the legal discussion,” someone mutters.

I’m sent to med bay next. No one at the prison cares if my wrists are injured or not but they do care about lawsuits and ticking boxes. The nurse there doesn’t speak. She just efficiently cleans and wraps my wrists

And just like that I’m back in gen pop. A few heads turn as I pass. News travels fast in here. By now, everyone knows something happened at the courthouse.

“Hayes is back,” someone calls out. “Yo, Hayes! That true about your lawyer?”

I keep walking, but I can’t get Milo out of my head. All I can think about is his weight in my lap, the broken sounds he made when he came.

I finally get back to my cell. Thackeray looks up from his bunk, thick book spread across his lap. The book is some fantasy thing. There’s a guy on the front carrying a ridiculously big sword and looking all broody.

“Eventful day?” His tone is carefully neutral.

“Could say that.” I climb up onto my bunk and freeze.

There, placed dead center on my flat excuse for a pillow, sits half a playing card. It’s the Jack of Spades, torn diagonally.

“When?” I hold up the torn card.

Thackeray’s face goes blank. “I was at the library for two hours. Got back maybe twenty minutes ago.”

“See anyone near our cell?”

“You know I don’t see things.” He returns to his book. “Things are bad for my health.”

I study the card, noting the clean tear. Cobb always was particular about his messages. In the fighting rings, a torn card meant you were being watched. It meant you’d stepped out of line. It meant consequences were coming if you didn’t correct course.

But I haven’t done anything. I haven’t talked to anyone about the case. I haven’t pointed fingers or made waves. I never once said Cobb’s name out loud. Yes, I say I’m innocent, but that’s normal for any con in here. If I claimed I’d done it, it’d be way more suspicious.

“You alright up there?” Thackeray asks without looking up.

“Peachy.”

I pocket the card and lie back. The pillow smells like cheap soap. Nothing like Milo’s expensive shampoo. Nothing like the soft sound he made when I first pushed inside.

Stop, I tell myself. I can’t think about it. That way liesmadness.

“Dinner’s in thirty,” Thackeray offers. “Salisbury steak night.”

“Mystery meat in gray sauce. Can’t wait.”

He chuckles. “Could be worse. Remember last month’s tuna surprise?”

“The surprise was it wasn’t tuna.”