That evening after dinner, I was tidying up some papers at my desk when the head warden came over. He didn’t knock or call my name—he just appeared beside me like a shadow.
“Mr. Moretti is asking for you,” he said.
I stopped what I was doing. The words didn’t register right away. “Sorry… what?”
“He’s asking for you,” he repeated, slower this time.
I just stared at him. My brain was trying to make sense of it. Prisoners didn’t just… ask for staff by name. Not unless there was a very good reason. And Mr. Moretti? Of all people?
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.
The head warden’s jaw moved like he was chewing on the question. Then he shook his head. “Don’t know.” He looked over my shoulder at the papers I’d been sorting, like the conversation was already over. “You have to go t
