“Not much. Only that Simon is part of it.” Welded steel clangs shut behind Emma’s back. She has to stop herself from jumping.

Scott’s heels now sound brusque. “I’ve been ordered to empty this central section of staff and arrange an area in the old kitchen to the right of this hall for FBI personnel. Oh, and of course, I’m to surrender access to Simon’s room and I don’t get a say in how they’ll manage his care this evening.”

Scott’s tone is bitter, and Emma immediately knows she needs to use that. “Letting the FBI manage Simon’s procedures sounds like a bad idea.”

“I’m not entirely confident that Raymond knows what he’s doing. Pradeep has some concerns as well. I’m worried they won’t know how to manage Simon, and… costly mistakes will be made.”

Emma has to walk fast to keep up. “Is it true Simon is being transferred to another facility?”

“Paperwork has been set in motion, yes.” Scott looks bitter about that, too. “The FBI wants to transfer Simon to Byberry, in Pennsylvania. I’m contesting the transfer, and I believe the Gutmunssons’ lawyer is also contesting.”

“How long does Simon have?”

“This may be his last night at St. Elizabeths.”

“Is he aware of all this?”

“Yes.”

Emma factors that in. “So what’s his state of mind right now?”

“Tense,” Scott admits. “Overstimulated, because Raymond has provided him with some concessions I don’t usually allow. He’s also nervous, I think, that the chance to see his sister might be snatched away. He hasn’t seen his twin in nearly two years, reinforced by court order, and I know they were close. Here we are.”

Scott raps. Emma can hear a hum beyond the oak door. As the locks rattle, she sees pale motes floating in filtered light from the barred clerestory windows high above. She has a sense that time is slowing, fracturing.

“Talk to him,” Scott urges. “Be a friend. I know he can seem haughty, but it’s largely a defense mechanism. He might open up a little more, and it would be a good opportunity to calm his fears.”

“I’ll do my best,” Emma says. She wipes her palms against her jeans.

He might open up. Emma thinks that Scott means well, but Kristin has the better sense of it—He would like to crack you open.

The door goes wide.

The first thing she notices is the music. On the floor, just before the police barriers around Simon’s cage, an old record player sits connected to a single speaker. The light in the chapel is golden, and the air is full of violins and the rich, round tones of a male voice.

Pradeep has resumed his post at the desk. He doesn’t speak, just bows with his chin and extends a hand to the cell.

Simon Gutmunsson stands barefoot in his cage, one fist pressed against his chest, his face uplifted and blown with rapture. All the color is leached from his skin and hair under a shaft of afternoon sunlight. His eyes are closed, seemingly rolled back behind the lids, but when Emma opens her mouth to speak, he lifts a finger to order pause.