I might have said years, but part of me remembers that we’ve just arrived in Reveley. That’s right: I’m near the end of the first day-cycle, waiting for the prison to shut itself down for the night. I’m thinking I’ll scratch the day off on the wall, and start a tally on a patch of unmarked paint. In a place like this, it’s just the thing you do. You mark passing time on the walls, on the floor—on yourself if you have to. It’s important.

Every line is another day survived. A thing to give you rhythm. Without it, you’re afloat without an anchor, and the river goes on forever.

Oh no.

I’ve lost count. We’ve just arrived, but I can’t remember if we’re on Syndamere or Reveley. I remember darkness, and where there is night there has to be a day. One day in a two-week layover. One day, but now that I think about it, it might have been two. That is, unless I’ve lost my mind already.

I was hoping I’d last longer than that. Longer than two days chained to the floor of this ruddy little box.

I close my eyes, repeat where I can hear it. Two days, I tell myself, hoping I’ll believe it.

But the more I think, the more the words ring empty. It feels like I’ve been here longer than I’ve ever been anywhere else. I look around, hoping I’ll see Salt or Lear or even Todd. They should be tethered to the same long chain as me, lined up with two dozen others. I hear we’re all bound for the same hunk of metal, far away and over the horizon.

But I can’t see anyone.

The wardens must’ve split us up. It’s been a month, so that makes sense. We were supposed to leave after two weeks, but now they’ve parcelled us off for the long haul, each to our own little cell. It’s easier to control one scared convict than a dozen, even more so when you’ve cut them off from the herd. Drop them in a hole, leave them in the quiet, and you’ll go one better: a human being that cannot resist.

Wardens come and go outside, the same path every day of every week, year after year. I call out when I see shadows, shaking my chains and knocking my heels against the deck, wasting air just to see if there’s anyone out there. The warden-shapes ignore it, and if there are other cons on the block, they aren’t calling back. I’m the only one, then.

Somehow, I’ve known that all along.

I keep rattling, hurl a few choice phrases at the door. If I can’t get any sleep, neither will they.