A thick layer of gray dust cov­ers the floor and walls of Gil’s cell, which seem to be very grad­u­ally crum­bling in front of his eyes. A ratty, dust-covered mat­tress takes up a full half of the room. A cham­ber pot, thank­fully an empty one, lays beside the foot of the bed.

Gil kneels on his mat­tress, dis­turb­ing a cloud of dust mites. He shakes his head and reclines against the wall.

The wall, he quickly real­izes, has a small hole in it. He kneels down on his bed and looks through.

Surely enough, he sees the young woman,

 

A reli­gious native, by the looks of it at least. Her robe is sim­pler and less flashy than the robes wealthy Akka­di­ans wear, and yet the fab­ric looks silky smooth beneath the veneer of dust.

pac­ing back and forth in the neigh­bor­ing cell. After a moment, the woman sits down on the bed, smooths out her robe, and picks up a book from her mat­tress.

Gil squints—her dark eyes are the only vis­i­ble parts of her face.

She looks up from her book. Some­how, she notices Gil look­ing at her, and stares right back at him.

Gil sits up from his peep­hole and turns around.

Silence again. Gil paces across his cell. It takes him only three steps.

Gil closes his mouth. On the ground, a cock­roach scur­ries into his cell from under the wooden gate. He steps onto his bed, hold­ing his breath—insects ter­rify him. When the cock­roach dis­ap­pears from view, he allows him­self to sit down with his back against the wall.

The torch on the wall crack­les softly, monot­o­nously. He hears her crin­kle the book’s paper as she turns the pages.

The woman says noth­ing.