The girl who always kept her head down, who spoke so softly you had to lean in to hear her.
"Does he have evidence?" My voice was ice.
Ernest nodded.
"He produced a photocopy of a diary Gail supposedly kept before she died."
"One entry reads: 'Laurel Fox is a monster. She forces me to drink. I'm so scared of her.'"
A cold laugh left my throat.
"Public opinion online has completely spiraled." Ernest pressed his fingers against his brow.
"They've tagged you 'the deadliest beauty in the class.' They're demanding the death penalty."
I looked at him, my tone flat.
"Ernest, I need you to do two things."
"Name them."
I spoke slowly, making every word land.
"Submit that photo Nelson filed, the one of me holding the knife, for forensic authentication."
Ernest wrote fast.
"Then go to the bakery in the alley behind the college district. Ask the owner for the custom cake receipt from October 12th, ten years ago."
"That knife in the photo was the plastic cake knife that came free with a three-layer Black Forest cake."
Ernest frowned.
"What about the Gail Lambert accusation? That diary is devastating."
"Don't respond to the Gail Lambert claim. Not yet."
Ernest held my gaze for a long moment.
"All right. I'll get on it. Watch yourself in here. Nelson's put the word out—he wants you wishing you were dead inside this place."
I turned and walked back to the cell.
The second I stepped through the door, the air was wrong.
Every woman who'd been sitting on her bunk was now standing, their bodies packed together to block the surveillance camera.
Marlene Coyle walked toward me with a smile.
"Laurel Fox, right? Somebody outside put up a hundred thousand for one of your legs."
The words barely left her mouth before two women lunged at me from either side, locking my arms tight.
Marlene drove the sharpened toothbrush handle straight at my thigh.
I snapped my knee up and caught her square on the wrist.
Her bones cracked like a dry branch and she shrieked, the shiv clattering to the floor.
I twisted, threw the woman on my left over my shoulder, and slammed her into the concrete.
The one on my right let go and stumbled back, hands up.
I rubbed the red marks on my wrists and walked over to Marlene.
"A hundred grand? Nelson Whitney really is cheap."
She was rolling on the floor, cradling her wrist and howling.
The guard heard the noise and came running, nightstick banging against the iron door.