The holding cell was a different kind of quiet now. The raw, initial shock had worn off, leaving a numb, metallic taste of dread. The door clanged open, and for a bewildering second, I thought it was time. But it wasn't a guard.
It was Falon.
He stood in the doorway, his broad shoulders filling the frame. He was still in his impeccable suit, a stark contrast to the coarse orange jumpsuit I wore. Mr. Sterling hovered behind him, along with a guard who looked on with indifference.
Falon's gaze swept over me, from my unkempt hair to the ugly, state-issued shoes. A muscle in his jaw tightened, but his voice was controlled. "They're ready for us."
I just nodded, my throat too tight to speak.
"The lawyers are prepared," he continued, stepping fully into the cell. The space felt instantly smaller. "Sterling will handle the plea. You just need to stand there. Your job is to look like a Luna, not a convict. Do you understand? Dignity. Silence."
