He shrugs. “Jinn’s a ghost. We catch him, everything falls into place. Until then, we focus on what we can prove.”
“But you can’t prove much, can you?” I say, keeping my voice steady. “That’s why you need me in there. That’s why you want me to get them to talk.”
He sighs, losing patience. “I need confessions, Carrie. I need them on tape. I need you to get close, get them comfortable. That’s what you agreed to.”
The server drops off water and a bread basket. Neither of us touches it.
I stare at him, heart pounding. “So you have nothing real. That’s why you’re leaning on me. You want me to make your case for you.”
Rodriguez sits forward, voice sharp. “I want you to do your job. Get them talking. Get them to trust you. Or you’re the one who’s going to answer for everything.”
I look away, fighting down my anger. The pizza arrives, steaming and perfect, but the smell makes me sick. I force myself to tear off a piece, keep my hands busy, my mind working.
He picks up a slice, acting like this is just another meal, but his eyes never leave my face.
“I heard there was a commotion at the library today. Calhoun got into it with another inmate. What happened?”
I keep my voice even, my face calm. “It wasn’t a big deal. Just some shoving between inmates. Nothing you wouldn’t expect in a place like that.”
He raises an eyebrow, not convinced. “That’s not what I heard. You were right there, weren’t you?”
I shrug, reaching for my water. “I was shelving books. The guards handled it right away. Calhoun just got upset when another guy acted out. Nobody got seriously hurt.”
He studies me, eyes narrowed. “You seem pretty calm about it.”
I force a little laugh. “You told me to keep my head down. That’s what I’m doing.”
Rodriguez nods, but his gaze lingers, searching for any sign I’m hiding something. I don’t look away.
After a long moment, he picks up another slice of pizza. “Alright. Keep it that way. If anything else happens, you let me know first.”
“Sure.”
Rodriguez sets his pizza down and looks at me, eyes narrowing. “Do the guys suspect anything? About why you’re really there?”
I don’t bother trying to lie. I let out a slow breath, keeping my tone steady. “Kind of. They’re not stupid.”
“You’re not getting attached, are you? Because if I think for a second you’re?—”
Suddenly, a wave of nausea rolls over me. I press a hand to my mouth, heart hammering. The smell of melted cheese and grease, the heat of the room, everything blurs. I barely hear him as I push out of the booth.
“I—I need a minute,” I stammer, stumbling away before he can say another word.
I rush to the bathroom, barely making it to the stall before I’m on my knees, retching.
16
BLADE
They never say what the activity is until you’re already standing in line, shuffling past guards with their hands on their batons. Rec hall today, some “rehabilitation initiative.” All it means is they picked a handful of us at random so the warden can tick another box and pat himself on the back.
I get called. Lucky me. I hide my annoyance, but inside I’m grinding my teeth. I hate these things—makes me feel like an animal on display. Plus, I’ve got other shit on my mind. Jace got hauled off to solitary after the library mess. No one tells me how he’s holding up. You never know in here—guys disappear all the time, sometimes they come back, sometimes not.
I get herded into the rec hall with a dozen others. The room smells like old sneakers and something fried. There’s a cheap PA in the corner, playing music no one listens to. I find a spot at the edge, arms crossed, jaw set. I’m not in the mood for small talk, or crafts, or whatever team-building crap they’ve got planned.
Warden stands by the door, arms crossed, like a king on his throne. Smug bastard. He locks eyes with me, that shit-eating grin never fading. “Maren, didn’t expect to see you out here. You lose a bet?”
I bite down the answer I want to give. “Just lucky, I guess.” My voice is flat, deadpan. He snorts and walks away, already bored. I hate that guy.
