The prison was two hours outside the city, and Ivy spent every minute of the drive with her phone gripped so tightly her knuckles ached, waiting for an update that didn't come until they were already pulling into the visitor lot.

"He's stable," the voice on the other end told her, clipped and professional, the kind of voice that delivered this news a hundred times a week and had long since stopped softening it. "Some bruising, a couple of cracked ribs. He'll be alright. We're looking into who was involved."

"Someone did this to him on purpose."

"That's part of what we're looking into, ma'am."

Ivy hung up and pressed...