Jet’s voice sliced the silence. Curled into a ball, Carrie lay perfectly still—not an easy fete since dinner didn’t set well on her stomach. She’d never really cared much for what people called, shit on a shingle, but she ate most of it out of pure hunger. Still, she pretended to sleep, avoiding the conversation she dreaded—the one that set her schedule for betraying her friend. “Lang, wake up.” Evidently, Jet meant to have the discussion. Putting it off one more night seemed senseless since it would surely be the topic over breakfast. Carrie rolled to her other side and stared at the shadowed cement wall. “Okay, okay, I’m awake. What do you want?” Her attempt to mimic someone just dragged from sleep sounded convincing. “I need to make sure you understand what you have to do. The cell reassignment might take place as early as tomorrow, so we need to talk now.” Carrie stiffened but said nothing. “I’ve already hidden a shiv in your laundry bag… actually a knife I got out of the kitchen—”
