Chapter 1

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He looks haggard when her eyes find him. His hair, as usual, is mussed lopsided toward one side of his head, but even it looks dejected and tired. His shoulders are slumped. When she sits down in front of him at one of the many round tables that fill the room, she notices how pale he is in the fluorescent light, how the dark circles around his eyes are darker, the shadows in them deeper, bags under them puffier, the green of his irises dull. His jaw is tense, and it has a bruise. On the table, his hands are clenched into tight fists. She can see that the knuckles on his right hand are split and that there are bruises on his wrists. His gray shirt has the buttons in the wrong holes, making him look even more lopsided and tired. She wishes she could touch him, but the guard will kick her out. If she could, she would hug him and tell him that everything is going to be okay, that it's almost over, that he can get out of here soon. Who cares if their parents hate him? She is his sister, and she will not let him rot in here alone.

"Hey Bee," he mumbles.

"Caleb—what happened to you?"

"Rough night," he says shortly, and she knows the discussion is over.

"Hang in there," she begs, tears clogging her voice. "Please, hang in there. It's three more months, okay? And then the parole hearing will be up, and then you can get out of here."

He snorts. "They won't let me out of here."

"Caleb..."

"Don't. Even mom and dad gave up on me... I don't know why you haven't yet."

"Because you're my brother, Caleb. I can't say I'm not angry, but I love you. I know you can make it through this."

His entire body sags. "I... can't anymore," he whispers. "I let everyone down. I let you down. This place is... hell. I'm not going to make it here."

"Caleb—"

"I'm done," he says, and the words are so loaded with defeat that the weight of them feels like a hundred tons of cement on her chest.

"Don't say that," she mumbles, tears spilling on to her left cheek.

Caleb reaches out as if to catch them, but then remembers that he isn't supposed to have contact. His hand drops between them, heavy and defeated like the rest of him. He sighs. "I don't know if I have anything left to fight with," he tells her.

"Dammit, Caleb!" she slams her hand down on the table, causing half the room to jump. "Listen to me," she growls. "If there's anything I know about you, and how you ended up in here to begin with, its that you don't quit. So don't do it now, do you here me? I need you, and you will walk out of here, or so help me, I'll kill you myself, and it will hurt the entire time you're dying!"

Across the room, a small smirk plays at the corner of a man's lips. He is wearing a dark gray prison uniform as well, but she can see that his left arm is covered in tattoos. His eyebrow is quirked as he watches her outburst. He isn't sitting at a table with a visitor, though. He is standing near the door... his visitor must have left already. The thing that strikes her the most is his eyes. They are haunted and dark, a strange color of blue that she has never seen before. He makes her tremble, but she isn't sure why.

Caleb follows her blank stare across the room and visibly shudders. "Why are you staring at him?!" he hisses. "Are you trying to get me killed?"

"Who is that?" she mumbles back, tearing her gaze away from the man by the door and focusing on her brother.

"They call him Four—that's like, his gang name or something. He's in for some pretty heavy charges, but nobody messes with him. He practically runs this place—even the guards stay out of his way."

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