The fearful thought returned. His unexpected ally had not only given him bedding and clothes, but also a glimmer of hope – the brief exchange had almost restored his humanity for a moment. But now that he was alone again, that glimmer was gone, that feeling was over. He knew hope was dangerous in Hell. He knew he was something less than human in here. Just an animal in cage. The cell suddenly seemed to shrink.

He resisted the urge to run and instead took a deep breath. He told himself that the panic attack was a one-time deal. He also reminded himself that nothing bad had happened . . . yet. He’d received nothing more than a few curious glances. But that didn’t make sense, indeed only made him feel worse. He had been certain of a run-in. A ‘What the fuck are you looking at?’ Or a ‘Have a look at this pretty boy’ at the very least. He’d seen first-hand the attention that 60077, Paul Overton, had already attracted. Why had he been spared? The anticipation only added to his fear.

Jax was distracted from his thoughts by a group of men walking by his cell. He only caught a snippet of their talk before they were gone again, leaving him with only his racing mind for company. He knew he had to regain control.

He got up, took a step away from the bed and bowed briefly. Then he walked to the foot of his bed, sat on the floor and assumed a zazen meditation pose – legs crossed in a full lotus, his hands resting gently in his lap, his back straight and spine tall. He half-closed his eyes and felt himself begin to drift into the familiar state of detachment he was able to attain after years of practice. He’d discovered the Japanese method as a teen, after the accident, when he’d had to move into his nan’s. He’d tried many things to control his anger, his hate, back then. But the Zen Buddhist mainstay of zazen meditation was the only thing that had ever worked.

He was interrupted by approaching footsteps: a guard, judging from the sound – Dunlop Volleys didn’t echo on the lino the way the guards’ boots did. The footsteps stopped outside his cell. Jax uncrossed his legs and adopted as relaxed a slouch as he could muster, relieved he’d not gone deep into the his meditation and missed the warning sound.

‘Happy now?’ Rogers asked from the doorway.

Jax sensed a threat, knew that what was about to happen would probably happen whatever his response. ‘Sorry about the fuss. I didn’t mean to bother you.’

‘Well, you did,’ he said. ‘You and that fucking god-botherer twat.’

Rogers stepped in and shut the door behind him.

‘Stand up,’ he ordered.

Jax complied. He was used to orders.

‘Walk over there,’ he said, pointing to the corner of the cell.