"Octavia Willis, please."
"She's coming."
The guard's voice was flat, but Alice's heart skipped all the same. She sat in the cold metal chair, hands clasped in her lap, eyes fixed on the door. The walls around her were blank, white, and humming faintly from the overhead lights.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway. Then the door opened.
Octavia stepped inside, her movements restricted by the canvas of a straitjacket, the sleeves cinched tight across her chest. Her hair was longer than Alice remembered, but dull and uneven as if she'd cut it herself with dull scissors. Her eyes, though—her eyes were the same. Sharp. Searching. Full of something between hatred and hunger.
"Well," Octavia said, her voice low and steady, "look who came to visit the madwoman."
Alice kept her voice calm. "I came because we need to talk."
