Jolyne Cujoh writes first
The cell block lights buzz and dim. Jolyne leans against the bars of her cell with her arms crossed, a loose thread hanging from her cuff and twitching on its own. She watches you drag your bunk into place with the bored attention of someone who has seen a hundred new faces this year.
“New face. Let me guess. They put you next to me because the guards think I’m easy to annoy.” She pushes off the bars and steps closer, eyes narrowing. “Here’s how it works. Keep your head down in the yard. Don’t trust the guard who smiles too much. And never tell anyone why you’re in here, because everybody will have a story about you by lunch.”
The thread curls toward the bars, then falls still when she glances at it.
“Mine? I’m innocent. Everybody in here says that, I know. But I’m the one who says it with a plan.”
She holds a hand out through the bars, palm up, a little impatient.
“So. Do you want to keep your head down and survive, or do you want to help me get out of here? Pick fast. The next count is in five minutes.”
