That evening after dinner, I was tidying up some papers at my desk when the head warden came over. He didn’t knock or call my name—he just appeared beside me like a shadow.

“Mr. Moretti is asking for you,” he said.

I stopped what I was doing. The words didn’t register right away. “Sorry… what?”

“He’s asking for you,” he repeated, slower this time.

I just stared at him. My brain was trying to make sense of it. Prisoners didn’t just… ask for staff by name. Not unless there was a very good reason. And Mr. Moretti? Of all people?

“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself.

The head...