"What do you want?"
"Thought you might want to know about your girl."
Every muscle in my body locks. The restraints creak.
"Her head."
"She hit the wall when he shoved her. Hard enough they ran a CT—everyone thought it was a fracture. Came back clean. Concussion, they'll recheck in a week. Nothing that won't heal."
Nothing that won't heal. I close my eyes.
"She's been asking about you. Every day. Twice today."
"And Casey?"
"Transferred. This morning, early. They moved him to Ridgemont. Long-term residential, heavy supervision." Another pause. "Jaw's wired shut. They're talking about reconstructive surgery to his face."
Jaw wired shut. Reconstructive surgery. I stopped when Gage told me to stop, and Casey is alive because of it.
I don't know if that's relief or regret. Maybe both.
"Ferris."
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Silence. Long enough that I think she's left.
"For what?"
"For telling me about her. And for checking."
More silence. Then, very quietly: "You're welcome, Chadwick. That's the first time you've said that."
"Said what?"
"Thank you. In three years."
She's right. Three years and I've never said it. Thanking someone means needing something from them, and I don't do that.
"Thank you," I say again.
The slot closes. The footsteps retreat, and somewhere between the sound of her leaving and the silence that fills the space behind her, the consequences arrive.
A guard I don't recognize reads from a clipboard. Bored voice, no eye contact. My new conditions.
Solitary confinement. Indefinite. No minimum review period.
Privilege revocation. Total. No day room, no corridor access, no library, no supervised recreation.
Session suspension. All therapeutic and monitoring appointments cancelled pending security reassessment.
Contact restriction. No visitors except legal counsel, and legal counsel visits subject to enhanced supervision protocols.
Continuous sedation for the duration of confinement. No review period.
I take it in silence. Eyes on the ceiling while the guard reads and the fluorescent tube buzzes and the restraints hold me to a bed in a box inside a box.
