The guard heard the noise and came running, nightstick banging against the iron door.
"What the hell is going on? You starting a riot?"
Marlene got her complaint in first.
"Officer! She attacked me! She broke my hand!"
The guard gave me one cold look.
"093. Three days in solitary."
I held out both hands without a word and let them cuff me.
The solitary cell had no windows—just a single yellowed bulb overhead and less than thirty square feet for everything: eating, sleeping, pissing, breathing. Three full days. I didn't speak to a single person.
On the fourth day, they let me out.
That same afternoon, Detective Mercer called me in for questioning again.
His face was grim. He had a fresh stack of printed-out screenshots in his hand.
"Laurel Fox, take a look at what's happening out there!"
He slapped the printouts down on the table.
"They've torn your life wide open—name, address, everything. Your parents' restaurant got trashed. Your old company already put out a statement saying you're fired."
"The entire internet is calling for the maximum sentence!"
I looked down at the screenshots.