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I'd jump off and into your arms, but I can't trust the fall. Take my voice, I'm giving it though. I don't feel safe at all.
— The Fall, Half Alive
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━━━━━━ September 13, 2149
CASEY KING HAD PRECISELY four hours until she was eighteen. Six before the artificial morning began. Twelve before she would leave the cell bed she lay in forever. The Guard had taken Matthison—her previous cellmate—a month prior, and she hadn't had another since.
⠀⠀⠀Eight taps echoed in the room as her finger met cold steel.
⠀⠀⠀That was until earlier that morning when Wells Jaha had been brought into Casey's cell. He stood stoic in the doorway before he was encouraged—not pushed or shoved—by the Guard to enter the room. No one would dare lay a finger on the Chancellor's son, even if his father was cruel enough to send him here. Wells would be with her for her last day, and he hadn't said a word. He stared at the metal plating of the wall for hours on end with a distant look in his eye.
⠀⠀⠀If it had been a few months before this day, Casey might have cared enough to ask if he was okay or what he'd gotten in for. But, in all truth, she didn't really care. All that mattered was that he was in the same box as her, and they would both be floated for their crimes.
