Don’t become interesting.
Interesting people attracted attention.
Attention attracted questions.
Questions attracted trouble.
So I kept my head down, spoke when necessary, and spent most of my days reading whatever books I could get my hands on.
That morning, however, I couldn’t stop watching the old woman.
She stood near the wall while a guard checked her belongings.
A comb.
Two photographs.
A small bottle of medication.
An old knitted scarf.
And a little metal box.
The guard opened it, looked inside, and handed it back.
The old woman immediately pressed it into the bottom of her bag.
That caught my attention.
Not because of the box itself.
Because of the way she protected it.
She looked terrified.
And at Westbridge, fear had a smell.
Certain people could detect it from across the yard.
One of those people was Marla Kane.
Everyone called her “Mack.”
She was tall, muscular, and had a reputation for making people regret looking at her the wrong way.
Two women usually followed her everywhere.
Dina and Coleen.
They were already watching the newcomer.
Mack walked toward her.
I lowered my eyes.
Don’t get involved.
That was the rule.
Mack stopped in front of the old woman.
