We’re out on the field this afternoon, the sun beating down, dust rising off the gravel track. Nico paces ahead of us, kicking pebbles and muttering about the guards. Jace stays close, hands in his pockets, scanning the fence line like he’s memorizing every inch. We make our slow loop, the three of us sticking together, heads down but never truly relaxed.
I’m just about to say something about the heat when a shiver runs up my spine. I look up, a strange sense prickling at the back of my neck. For a second I could swear I feel someone watching me. I slow down, searching the edges of the yard, the windows that look out over the field. Nothing obvious. Still, I can’t shake the feeling.
Jace notices me looking around. “What is it?” he asks, voice low.
I hesitate, not sure how to explain it without sounding crazy. “I don’t know. Felt like I was being watched.” I pause, trying to put it into words. “But it didn’t feel…bad. Not creepy. More like—” I break off, the feeling already fading.
Nico throws a look over his shoulder, smirking. “We’re in a prison, brother. Everyone’s watching.”
But I just shake my head, still unsettled. “No, it was different. Like somebody out there was hoping we’d notice.”
Nico shrugs, brushing off my words. “We’ve got bigger things to worry about,” he says, kicking at the dirt, eyes flicking to the towers and back.
Jace nods, not quite looking at either of us. “Wilson hasn’t contacted us in a week. Nothing since the arraignment.”
“He might be busy,” I offer, though the words sound thin even to me. Decker was always steady, always found a way to get messages in or pull us aside, even when things were at their worst.
Nico shakes his head, jaw tight. “It’s not like him. Not with everything hanging over us.”
The silence that follows is heavy. The guards watch from their posts, inmates drift in and out of groups on the far side of the yard, but something feels off.
Two days slide by, long and restless. Each morning we check the call list, hoping to see Decker’s name, but it never appears. I scribble out a letter, short and direct, and give it to the guard, but when I ask about it the next day, I get nothing but a shrug. Jace leaves messages with the public defender’s office, just in case, but there’s no word back. Even Nico, who usually complains about Decker’s lectures, starts to worry out loud.
Every afternoon we scan the rec yard for someone in a suit or even a new face by the staff gate, but no one comes. Meals taste like cardboard, time slows to a crawl, and our old certainty feels worn thin. I find myself replaying our last conversation with Decker, looking for clues I might have missed. It’s like waiting for a storm you can’t see, but you know it’s coming.
At night, I lie awake listening to the distant shouts and clanging doors, wondering if Wilson has forgotten us, or if something worse has happened.
By the time another week has passed with no word from Wilson, the unease settles deep in my bones. It’s hard not to think something has gone wrong—maybe with the case, maybe with Decker himself, maybe with all of us.
One afternoon, I’m crossing the yard when two guards come out, dragging a prisoner between them. He’s shouting, his hands cuffed tight behind his back, face red and wild. I step aside, but the sound of his voice follows me.
“I didn’t do anything!” he yells. “I swear, this is a mistake!”
A few inmates nearby just shake their heads. One of the older guys, a lifer called Harlan, stands beside me for a moment, watching the scene.
“Doesn’t matter much,” he says quietly. “Most of us got stories like that. You fight, you lose. System’s got a plan, and you’re just in it. Might as well get used to it.”
I nod, a tightness in my chest I can’t explain. It’s not just the missing lawyer or the growing list of charges. It’s the slow realization that here, innocence doesn’t count for much. Harlan is right.
By the next morning, something shifts in me. I’ve always tried to trust the system, or at least trust that Decker could work it for us. But waiting here, day after day, feels like being buried alive. I’m tired of feeling powerless, tired of not knowing anything about what we’re really up against.
I stop one of the guards after roll call, doing my best to sound calm and reasonable. “I want to request access to the law library,” I say. “I need to look up statutes about federal weapons charges and conspiracy laws. I want to understand what we’re facing.”
He gives me a long, skeptical look, but after a moment he nods and scribbles something on his clipboard. “I’ll let the librarian know. Don’t expect miracles, though.”
Later that afternoon, I’m escorted through a set of locked doors into a small, bright room with shelves of thick legal books and an old computer humming in the corner. I sit at a scarred table, my hands already restless, heart pounding a little with purpose.
I start searching for anything I can find on federal weapons charges, how conspiracy gets prosecuted, how sentences are handed down. I read case after case, circling anything that sounds like us. Most of it is overwhelming, but every small piece of knowledge feels like a foothold.
I spend the better part of an hour hunched over law books and the sluggish library computer, reading the same statutes and rulings until the words blur together. The legal language is dense, and I start to wonder if it’s written that way just to keep people like me from ever finding hope.
After a while, I spot the librarian shelving books nearby. She’s middle-aged, hair pulled back in a tight bun, with gentle eyes behind thick glasses. I step over, my notes in hand.
“Excuse me,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle her. “I’m looking for anything on recent federal weapons cases—conspiracy, trafficking, anything that might set a precedent for a defense. Do you know where I should start?”
She gives me an apologetic smile, glancing at the clipboard she carries. “We have a few reference books on criminal law, but I’m afraid most of our materials are a bit outdated. I can check the online catalogue for you if you’d like.”
I nod, grateful for the effort. “I’d appreciate it. Even a starting point helps.”
