The corrections agent sat there leering at the young woman on the other side of the glass who had interrupted her morning cigarette. She was young, pretty, squeamishly fidgeting inside of her long petticoat which concealed everything but her bronze, bare legs and blue stiletto heels. Her nervous pupils darted across the ceiling and wouldn't meet the stone gaze of the corrections officer, who was very familiar with her type, and today, she had no patience for it.

"Visitation is for immediate family members only, Miss," she grunted into the microphone.

"Oh, but it's important," answered Jasmine in a low, secretive whisper.

"What's important?"

"Um, I, I have to see him."

"Why?"

"It's important."

"You don't have a reason, ma'am?"

"I do, but you see—"

"Ma'am, I'm gonna have to ask you to move along now—"

"Fine! Will you just give this letter to him!" she cried, removing a sealed white envelope from her purse and sliding it halfway underneath the glass.

"Can't promise he'll read it, but I'll take it and put it with the rest."

"The 'rest?'"

"Of the fan mail, sweetheart. Did you think you were the only one? Oh, I get tons of letters from you girls, from all over the country, too. Buncha misguided fools. Here two more of 'em come behind you now!"

Jasmine looked over her shoulder, glancing at the two women skittering up to the entrance of the prison behind her, peering through the glass almost as if they were just waiting to see if Jasmine would be successful.

"Oh, I'm not a fan," she protested.

"Sure, you're not."

"I'm not."

"Do you want me to take the letter or not? You're not seein' him."

Jasmine relinquished the edge of the envelope from her grasp with a pathetic pout. "Fine."

It was back to the drawing board, and another late night of scheming in the library for Jasmine after work. She had turned her phone to silent after the first five messages from Michael. She'd easily be able to explain away her lateness to him when she got home. For now, all that was important to her was:

how to get a prison visit without being an immediate family member.

Finally, she stumbled across something that she thought would work.

"I'm pregnant," she blurted out the next morning.

"What?"

"I said 'I'm pregnant,' and it's his. He needs to know."

"Didn't you put that in the letter?"

"Ma'am!" she whined, as her lips began to tremble and her large, brown eyes began to glisten. She had to sell it just well enough to soften up the rigid, old woman.

"I need to see his face when I tell him. I need to know if he cared, because right now, I don't even know if I should keep—"

"Now hold on, dear," the corrections officer stammered. "I'll ask him, okay? No promising that he'll want to see you, but I'll ask."

"Thank you," whimpered Jasmine as she dabbed her eyes with a tissue. Behind it, she was smiling, as she watched the corrections officer scurry out of her seat and through the back door.

She came shortly after and gently said, "he'll see you, dear."

Jasmine was led into a small room with a glass partition dividing its two sections. The glass offered just enough of her reflection to allow her to truthfully gaze at the girl looking back. She felt ridiculous, guilty even. But her heart was pounding as she waited in the silence and it was all she could focus on. The buzzer rang abruptly, and the guard let in a man in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs. His hair was much longer than she remembered, and it spilled over his forehead and concealed his eyebrows. His beautiful brown eyes had lost their light. They were three shades darker.

He sat in front of her, and though he was looking at her from the other side of the glass, there was no indication from his expression that he actually saw her. He peered through her as there was nothing there except the wall.

Jasmine hesitated to reach for the phone, biting her lip as her fingers shivered. Without any sort of character in his motion, he reached for the phone on his side.

"Um, I'm glad I was finally able to see you. I would've come sooner, but they wouldn't let me in."

She looked at him for validation, some glint of relief or gratitude or anything to show that he cared. After all this time, she was still searching for the affection in his eyes. The man broke out of his trance momentarily to address her tersely. Only, he didn't speak. He just looked, casting his barren gaze directly into Jasmine's eyes. Her heart skipped for a moment. His glare alone, like the cold arm of a blizzard, shoved those tiny words right back down her throat, and it stung to swallow. But she gulped them down and collected herself. "How have you been?"

"You shouldn't have come here, Jasmine."

"But, Caleb, I needed to tell you something—"

"Jasmine."

"If you would just listen I don't know how much of this I'm supposed to say but I've been studying a lot and I think I know a way to get you out of here if—"

"Jasmine!" he yelled, with more fire in his throat than he had mustered in a long time. It shocked her into silence. His shoulders sank, and his gaze slowly drifted from hers. Then he whispered, "I don't ever wanna see you here again, okay? Okay?"

He stood up and hung up the phone, then the guard placed his hand on his shoulder before guiding him out. Jasmine sat there, alone again, with her fist shaking too much for her to relinquish the phone from her grasp. The door was slammed back shut, and a sobering cloud of clarity accompanied its echo. Everything she had been trying had been for nothing.

As Caleb was led back into his cell, he felt a presence at his side, lingering on the wall like an old cobweb.

"So you do still have people on the outside that care about you," said Grim.

"And? So what?"

"I just thought maybe you'd think that's a little selfish, that's all. What most of these guys here wouldn't give to have that. That light."

"Look, I just need time, okay?"

"Oh, well we've got plenty of that. In the meantime, I can't keep protecting you at lunch, the boys will start to think we're an item."

A buzzer sounded and all the cell doors opened, and the guards corralled the inmates into the cafeteria.

Right on cue, not long after Caleb and Grim sat down with their trays, there came the heat of a looming presence towering across from them.

"Hey rich boy, I dropped my cornbread, lemme get yours," he said while already reaching across the table. This time, Caleb caught him by the wrist. Grim smiled.

"Fuck off," growled Caleb.

"What'd you say to me?"

Caleb locked eyes with him and didn't flinch. "I said—"

In the next instant, he was airborne, ascending above everyone before swiftly crashing back down onto the table head first. And then everything went black.