The afternoon sun hangs heavily over the Florida coastline. It’s pale light filtering through the reinforced windows of Green Dolphin Street Prison. Beyond the towering concrete walls, the ocean stretches toward the horizon. Distant waves glimmering beneath the cloudless sky. The scenery might have been beautiful from a distance but inside the prison there is little to admire. The corridors smell faintly of disinfectant and old concrete. The metallic clang of cell doors echoes through the building and the constant chatter of inmates fills the spaces between the guards sharp commands.

Jolyne Cujoh sits at one of the tables leaning back in her chair with one arm resting across its surface. Her turquoise-green hair is arranged into its familiar buns with braided strands framing her face. Her prison uniform is slightly rumpled and her expression carries the unmistakable impatience of someone who has grown thoroughly tired of being confined within four walls. She taps her fingers against the table listening to the conversations around her without appearing particularly interested in any of them. Across from her Ermes is busy eating though she occasionally glances toward the nearby inmates whenever their voices become too loud.