The cell is smaller than Jack remembers.
Or maybe it just feels that way.
The walls press in.
Gray concrete.
Cold.
The bench is hard beneath him.
The light through the small window is fading.
Orange turning to purple.
Purple turning to black.
Jack stares at the wall.
At nothing.
His mind won't stop.
Calloway's questions.
"How old were you when you lost your parents?"
"Twelve."
"Did you feel like you belonged?"
"No."
Jack's throat tightens.
He didn't want to answer those questions.
Didn't want to dig up those memories.
But Calloway had insisted.
"The jury needed to see you as human," Calloway had said. "Not a monster. A survivor."
Jack had agreed.
Because what choice did he have?
And it had worked.
He'd seen it in their faces.
The older woman with glasses.
The younger juror with blonde hair.
Even the angry man in the back row.
They'd looked at him differently.
Not with fear.
With sympathy.
Pity.
Jack's jaw clenches.
He doesn't want their pity.
He doesn't want their sympathy.
He wants to be free.
But Calloway's strategy is working.
And if it gets him out of here—
If it keeps him from spending the rest of his life in a cage—
Then he'll play the part.
The broken boy.
The survivor.
The man trying to rebuild.
Jack leans back against the wall.
His head hits concrete.
He closes his eyes.
"You grew up alone."
"Yes."
"And when your marriage ended, you tried to kill yourself."
"Yes."
The courtroom had gone silent.
Dead silent.
Jack had felt exposed.
Naked.
Like Calloway had stripped away every layer of armor.
Every defense.
And left him bleeding in front of strangers.
Not the criminal.
Just Jack.
The boy who lost his parents.
The man who lost his wife.
The survivor.
Jack opens his eyes.
The cell is darker now.
The light from the window is almost gone.
He stares at the ceiling.
At the cracks in the concrete.
Footsteps echo in the hallway.
Jack's head turns.
The door opens.
A guard stands in the doorway.
Young. Maybe mid-twenties.
His expression is neutral.
"Inmate," the guard says. "You've got a visitor."
Jack's stomach drops.
A visitor?
Who—
"Who is it?" Jack asks.
The guard shrugs. "Didn't say. Come on."
Jack stands slowly.
The guard steps aside.
Jack walks into the hallway.
The fluorescent lights are harsh.
Blinding after the dim cell.
Another guard is waiting.
Older. Heavier.
He doesn't speak.
Just gestures for Jack to follow.
They walk down the corridor.
Past other cells. Past other prisoners.
Some are sleeping.
Some are staring at the walls.
One man is pacing.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Jack's mind is racing.
Who would visit me?
Calloway?
No. He would've said something.
Bella?
Jack's chest tightens.
Bella.
Maybe she—
Maybe she's here to—
He doesn't let himself finish the thought.
The guards lead him through a heavy door.
Into another corridor.
This one is quieter.
Cleaner.
The walls are painted white instead of gray.
They pass a window.
Outside, the sky is dark.
No stars.
Just black.
Jack's hands are trembling again.
He forces them still.
The guards stop in front of a door.
The older guard unlocks it.
"Inside," he says.
Jack steps through.
The room is small.
A table in the center.
Two chairs.
One on each side.
The walls are white.
Sterile.
There's a camera in the corner.
Red light blinking.
And sitting in the chair across from the table—
Detective Borne.
Jack's blood runs cold.
Borne is leaning back in his chair.
Relaxed.
His arms are crossed.
He's wearing a dark suit.
No tie.
His expression is calm.
Almost amused.
"Jack," Borne says. "Thanks for seeing me."
Jack doesn't move.
The door closes behind him.
The lock clicks.
"Sit down," Borne says.
Jack's jaw clenches.
He walks to the chair.
Sits.
His hands rest on the table.
Flat.
Still.
Borne watches him.
"You look tired," Borne says.
Jack doesn't respond.
"Rough day in court?" Borne continues. "I heard Calloway really went to bat for you. Childhood trauma. Suicide attempt. Very moving."
Jack's eyes narrow.
"What do you want?"
Borne smiles.
"Just wanted to check in," he says. "See how you're holding up."
"Bullshit."
Borne's smile widens.
"Direct," he says. "I appreciate that."
Jack leans forward slightly.
"You came here for a reason," Jack says. "So say it."
Borne uncrosses his arms.
He leans forward too.
Mirroring Jack's posture.
"You know," Borne says, "this room isn't as private as you think."
He gestures to the camera in the corner.
"They're watching. Listening."
Jack's eyes flick to the camera.
Then back to Borne.
"So?"
Borne reaches into his jacket pocket.
He pulls out a small device.
Sets it on the table.
A jammer.
"But this," Borne says, "takes care of that."
He presses a button.
A faint hum fills the room.
The red light on the camera blinks.
Then goes dark.
Borne leans back in his chair.
"Now we can talk," he says.
Jack's stomach twists.
What the fuck is this?
"Why are you here?" Jack asks.
Borne tilts his head.
"Why do you think?"
"I don't play games."
"Neither do I," Borne says. "But I wanted to see you. Face to face."
Jack's jaw clenches.
"You've seen me. Now leave."
Borne laughs.
Soft.
Almost gentle.
"You really don't know, do you?"
"Know what?"
Borne reaches into his jacket again.
This time, he pulls out a photograph.
He sets it on the table.
Face down.
Jack stares at it.
His heart is pounding.
"Go ahead," Borne says. "Look."
Jack's hand moves slowly.
He picks up the photograph.
Turns it over.
And his world collapses.
The photo is clear.
High quality.
Taken recently.
Bella is kissing Detective Borne.
Not a peck.
Not an accident.
A real kiss.
Her lips pressed against his.
Her eyes closed.
Her hand on his chest.
Jack's eyes move across the image.
Cataloging.
Processing.
Her earrings.
The small silver hoops.
The ones he gave her.
The ones she wore on their first real date.
She's wearing them.
His gaze shifts to Borne.
The dark suit.
No tie.
The same outfit he wore earlier today.
In this room.
When he sat across from Jack.
It's recent.
This is recent.
Jack's hand is trembling.
The photograph shakes.
He can't look away.
Bella's expression is soft.
Relaxed.
The way she used to look at him.
Before everything fell apart.
Borne's arm is around her waist.
Possessive.
Comfortable.
Like he's done this before.
Like this isn't the first time.
Jack's throat closes.
His chest feels like it's caving in.
This is real.
This isn't a setup.
This isn't fake.
She's kissing him.
He sets the photograph down on the table.
His fingers leave smudges on the glossy surface.
His throat is tight.
His chest feels like it's caving in.
Bella.
Bella and Borne.
Bella and—
"When was this taken?" Jack's voice is barely above a whisper.
Borne leans back. He looks at his watch.
"Oh, I don't know. maybe an hour ago," he says.
Jack's mind is racing.
An hour.
While I was in here.
While I was fighting for my life.
She was—
She was with him.
"She's been very helpful," Borne says. "Cooperative."
Jack's jaw clenches.
"What does that mean?"
Borne shrugs.
"It means she's moved on, Jack. She's not waiting for you."
Jack's hands are shaking.
He presses them flat against the table.
Forces them still.
This isn't real.
This can't be real.
Bella wouldn't—
But the photo is right there.
Clear.
Undeniable.
"She looks happy, doesn't she?" Borne says.
Jack doesn't respond.
He can't.
His throat is too tight.
His chest is too heavy.
Jack's vision blurs.
I was trying to become better.
Trying to prove I could be more than what I was.
More than the monster everyone said I was.
For her.
His hands are trembling.
Because I thought—
Because I believed—
That she was waiting.
That she saw something in me worth saving.
Jack's chest feels like it's collapsing.
I was rebuilding myself.
Piece by piece.
Trying to be worthy of her.
Trying to prove I could be the man she needed.
And now—
She's with him.
The man hunting me.
The man trying to destroy me.
She chose him.
The betrayal isn't just romantic.
It's deeper than that.
She was my reason.
My purpose.
The only thing that made any of this worth surviving.
And she's gone.
Jack blinks.
Something in him snaps. Not out of place but rather back into place, as if it's been patiently waiting this entire time.
Forces his vision clear.
He wants to lunge across the table.
Wants to wrap his hands around Borne's throat.
Wants to squeeze until the life drains from his eyes.
But he doesn't move.
He sits perfectly still.
His breathing is shallow.
Controlled.
Borne's smile fades slightly.
"Nothing to say?" he asks.
Jack's voice is cold.
Flat.
"You got what you came for."
Borne tilts his head.
"Did I?"
Jack doesn't respond.
Borne stands slowly.
He picks up the jammer.
Presses the button.
The hum stops.
The red light on the camera blinks back on.
"I'll let you get back to your cell," Borne says.
He walks toward the door.
Pauses.
Turns back.
"She asked about you, you know," Borne says. "At first. Wanted to know if you were okay."
Jack's chest tightens.
"But then she stopped asking," Borne continues. "I think she realized you're not worth the trouble."
Jack doesn't move.
Doesn't blink.
The silence stretches.
Then—slowly—Jack lifts his eyes.
Something in his expression has changed.
The pain is gone.
The anger is gone.
What's left is colder.
Emptier.
Borne's smile falters.
Jack's voice is calm.
"You should spend time with your loved ones, Detective."
A pause.
Borne's expression shifts.
The smugness drains from his face.
Something else replaces it.
Uncertainty.
Jack's eyes never leave Borne as he turns toward the door.
He knocks.
Once.
Twice.
The door opens.
Borne steps through without looking back.
His movements are careful.
Measured.
Like he's walking away from something that might explode.
The door closes behind him.
The door closes.
The lock clicks.
Jack sits alone.
The photograph is still on the table.
Bella's smile.
Borne's arm around her waist.
Jack stares at it.
His hands are trembling.
His chest is tight.
His throat is burning.
Alone.
I'm completely alone.
When was the last time he felt like this?
Was it when Leena left him.
Or when he was chained in Kane's basement. Bloody and beaten.
Jack's hands stop trembling.
He looks at the photograph one more time.
Then he raises his hand.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
A guard appears at the small window in the door.
Jack's voice is calm.
Flat.
"I'd like to make my phone call," he says. "I'm entitled to one."
The guard hesitates.
There's something in Jack's tone that doesn't match the situation.
No desperation.
No anger.
Just cold clarity.
"Now, please," Jack says.
The guard's expression shifts.
Uncertain.
He nods.
"I'll... I'll get someone," he says.
The window closes.
Jack sits back.
His breathing is steady.
His hands are still.
He's not broken.
He's activated.
The guards open the door.
"Let's go," the older one says.
Jack stands slowly.
He leaves the photograph on the table.
Doesn't look back.
The guards lead him through the corridors.
Back to his cell.
The door closes behind him.
Jack sits on the bench.
Calloway's questions echo in his mind.
"You grew up alone."
"Yes."
"And when your marriage ended, you spiraled."
"Yes."
"You tried to kill yourself."
"Yes."
Jack's jaw clenches.
That was the old Jack.
The weak Jack.
The Jack who cared.
Who loved.
Who tried to be something he wasn't.
But that Jack is gone.
He died in Kain's basement.
Or maybe he died when Leena left.
Or maybe he's been dying slowly.
Piece by piece.
And tonight—
Tonight, Borne killed what was left.
Jack stands.
He walks to the small window.
The sky is black.
No stars.
No moon.
Just darkness.
Jack's reflection stares back at him.
Scarred.
Hollow.
A monster.
That's what they called him in court.
That's what Mercer said.
"A monster."
Jack's lips curve into a faint smile.
Maybe they're right.
Jack follows the guard down the corridor. The guard leads him to a small room with a phone mounted on the wall.
A metal stool bolted to the floor.
A camera in the corner.
"You get fifteen minutes," the guard says. "Make it count."
Jack nods.
The guard steps outside, leaving the door cracked open.
Jack sits on the stool.
He picks up the phone.
Dials a number.
It rings once.
Twice.
Then a voice answers.
"Yeah?"
"Bones," Jack says.
There's a pause.
"Boss?" Bones sounds confused. "How are you—where are you calling from?"
"Jail," Jack says. "They gave me my phone call."
"Jesus. Are you okay? What do you need?"
Jack's voice is cold.
Flat.
Emotionless.
"Listen carefully," Jack says. "I don't have much time."
"I'm listening."
"The trial starts again in two days," Jack says. "The jury deliberates after closing arguments."
"Okay."
"I need you to make sure they vote the right way."
Bones hesitates.
Something's off.
Jack's voice—it's different.
Not angry.
Not desperate.
Just... empty.
Bones has heard Jack furious before.
He's heard him cold.
But this?
This is something else.
"Boss," Bones says carefully. "What do you mean by—"
"Find everyone who went against me," Jack says quietly. "Collect debts."
Bones's stomach tightens..
"Boss, that's—" Bones starts.
"I don't like the jury," Jack continues. "Make sure they understand what happens if they vote guilty."
The words are final.
No room for argument.
Bones swallows.
Something happened.
Something changed.
"Are you sure about this?" Bones asks. His voice is uncertain. "Jack, this is—"
"I'm sure," Jack says. "What else?"
Jack's jaw clenches.
"The witnesses," he says. "The ones who testified against me."
"What about them?"
"Find them. I want them gone."