Ruaan heard them before he reached the door.
Split Lip's worried voice, carrying through the cell bars like he wasn't even trying to be quiet.
"Is he okay though? He was just — he was out. I found him on the floor and he wasn't moving—"
"He's in the infirmary." Bruised Jaw. Flat. "They'll fix him."
"But what happened? Nobody's telling me what actually—"
"Mind your business." Bandaged Arm. Sharper than the other two. "2525 is not your problem."
"He's our cellmate—"
"He's a rich boy." Bandaged Arm's voice dropped. "Look at him. The way he talks, the way he carries himself. He probably comes from serious money. He'll be out of here in a few months when Daddy pays someone off. Meanwhile, I'm here for life." A pause. "So no. He's not my problem."
Silence.
Then Split Lip said quietly, "It still wasn't right. Exposing him like that."
"I did what the officer told me to do."
"Which officer?"
"Crowe."
Ruaan stood outside the door.
