However, the amenities he had taken such glee in winning were the furthest things from the inmate’s mind at that moment. His hand clenched on the tool as he blubbered without voice, his will shredded like so much paper. Then the tool touched the flaccid white of his belly and he realized what he was about to do.

Blood dripped onto the floor almost a minute after that—it took time to achieve that kind of damage with nothing but a shiv, a weapon made out of a toothbrush ground against contraband rocks until its edges were as sharp as . . . well, almost a knife.

The act of amputation was excruciatingly painful.

And it was long over by the time a short, compact man with black hair faintly touched with silver walked into the waiting room. “I’m sorry for the delay, Ms. Russo. Your jet-chopper arrived five minutes ago, but I wasn’t immediately able to spare an escort—several prisoners decided to get into a ruckus in the yard.”

Sophia stood, briefcase held loosely in her left hand. “That’s quite alright, Warden.” The otherness in her settled back, its task complete. “I’m still on schedule.”

Warden Odess escorted her through the first set of security doors. “This is what, your third visit here this month?”

“Yes.”

“Things going well on this new case?”

“Yes.” She paused as he cleared them through the second to last checkpoint. “The prosecution team feels certain of success.”

“I guess they’ve got an ace in the hole with you. Pretty hard to argue innocence when you guys can pick the memories out of the accused’s mind.”