In these sterile rooms that were more window than wall, I saw the beds and the stainless steel combination toilet and sink that made me think of the asylum. Locked doors, therapists, guards.

I couldn’t trust Jessica with this because of a fundamental difference in our philosophies. It wasn’t a pretty difference, and that difference had been clearly marked out for me in the diary. Being here, I was closer to being the Victoria of the diary than the Victoria I was so sure Jessica would want me to be.

Jessica wanted to get us to a place where we were dealing. Where we were equipped with the skills to battle our own issues, to handle conflict and confrontations.

I’d tried that. I was so, so weary of it. The game. The back and forth. Consideration, when none was extended back. It was so hard, so difficult. I was so tired of dealing. I wanted to at least consider what we needed to do so things were dealt with.

“I want to make a transaction,” I said.

I’d walked past Colt, down to the end of the row. One of the prisoners had changed into his prison outfit, letters marked down each leg and the side of the costume. He was a skinny guy with styled hair and a beard a little too long and frizzy to be stylish. Brown hair, brown beard, a long face, and rectangular frame glasses. On the end of the bed, a uniform was laid out, black coat, bodysuit, and pants, with silver branches worked into the design.

Across from him was his partner in crime. Blond, tousle-haired in a way he’d tried to do with styling gel, but looked forced, still wearing his white bodysuit with black branches. He’d only taken his jacket off. His eyes and nose were red, cheeks wet, his face a perpetual scowl. I couldn’t imagine not removing a costume with those hard branch bits. Maybe he was denying his new reality.

Whatever.

“What’s the transaction?” the one with the beard and brown hair asked. He stood from his cot, adjusting his glasses.

I didn’t answer right away.

The two of them were Orchard. Ex-Boston. Apparently people Ashley had crossed paths with, in a former life. Slave peddlers who used their individual powers to alter slaves in mind and body, to fit custom orders. Vista had said the Wardens and Foresight had been successful in picking them up.

There was a slot for file folders built into the door. I picked them up, paging through.