If you need us, me and my buddy are right here, his expression said, while the look on his colleague’s face added, Don’t do anything to need us.

As the cell door slid shut behind her, awkwardness substituted for a casual greeting. Disinterested at the best of times in casual chatter, Wright regarded her wordlessly. The silence between them threatened to grow as wide as the gap between their respective social positions.

“How are you?” she finally murmured.

In the troglodytic confines of the cell the query was at least as funny as the paramount punchline of a highly paid stand-up comedian.

“Ask me again in an hour,” Wright replied coldly.

With the silence but not the unease broken, her attention wandered to the cell’s small desk. It boasted little in the way of accoutrements save for a single tome: Beyond Good and Evil. Not exactly light reading, but she was pleased to see it.

“You got the book I sent.”

Wright wasn’t one to comment on the obvious. For all he mouthed in response he might have read the volume through, or he might have used the pages for toilet paper. His expression gave no clue. And they were both running out of options.

“I thought I’d try one last time.” In the dim light of the cell her pale skin gleamed like the sun he could no longer see. “Beg, really.”

No smile, no frown. Same monotone, same unreadable expression.

“You should’ve stayed in San Francisco,” he muttered. “Situations reversed, I would have.”

She stared at him a moment longer, then moved deliberately over to the desk. From the slim case she carried she removed a sheaf of neatly bound papers, set them on the battered, scored surface, and added a pen. Per entrance regulations, the pen had a soft tip. Her voice strengthened.

“By signing this consent form you’d be donating your body to a noble cause. You’d have a second chance, with your last act, to do something for humanity. It’s an opportunity that’s not offered to everyone in your position.”