By morning, the prison seemed unchanged.
The same gray walls caught the early light. The same gates groaned open and shut. The same voices echoed down the corridors. But to Mitchell, every familiar sound now carried a second meaning.
He watched Reed during the morning briefing.
Deputy Warden Thomas Reed stood near the end of the conference table, hands folded, listening as shift supervisors discussed staffing, maintenance, and inmate transport. He wore his uniform neatly pressed. His hair, more silver than brown now, was combed back with care. Nothing in his expression suggested anxiety.
Mitchell wondered how many times he had mistaken calm for innocence.
“Any updates on Cole?” Reed asked near the end.
The room quieted.
Mitchell kept his gaze on the clipboard before him. “Legal review continues.”
“Media’s not letting it go.”
“No.”
Reed gave a small sigh. “Shame. These cases get dragged into the court of public opinion, and suddenly everyone forgets twelve jurors heard the evidence.”
