Andrei Solace didn’t bother looking up. Not that he’d have been able to see much with one eye swollen shut from the butt of the rifle he’d taken to the face. The pain had subsided to a dull, all-consuming ache, but the anger burned, low and steady, in his gut. Enough to get through another day. The outsider spoke again, his tone nearly amused, partly chiding. “I’m afraid you’re incorrect about that.” Andrei did risk a glance, curious about who spoke to a jailer that way. He expected another social worker. Gods knew he’d seen enough of them over his lifetime. Instead, what he got was the biggest man he’d ever seen. It was enough to have Andrei ignoring the pain from his injuries to swing his legs from the narrow cot to stand and edge closer. “Look, sir, I’m sure you think you’re entitled to all sorts of things with your shiny shoes and soft hands. But this is my lockup, and I’m telling you there’s no entry to the cells without the proper paperwork.”
