"Hey." Harper kept his voice barely over a whisper, but he looked over his shoulder up and down the long hall of cells anyway. Nothing moved, not a shadow, not a footstep. Everything was still. Still and silent. Not even a breath of sound came from the dark hall. It was still and silent inside the cell too. The old man hadn't answered the whisper and hadn't moved from the bed – or the horizontal surface that passed for a bed in this cell. Harper cleared his throat and tried again, just a little louder. "Hey, old man." This time, the old man rolled over – at least, his head and shoulders twisted around from the fetal position he was in, as if his body couldn't muster the energy to roll the rest of the way over. Fatigue was etched in the grey eyes, flat, empty eyes over dark, bulging circles, over cheeks red from the cold. Limp white hair hung in strings, stark contrasts against the blotchy face. He groaned, his only answer to Harper's greeting. Harper looked over his shoulder once again then stepped past the open door of the cell to lean just inside the door frame.
