Tuesday Night. NYPD Detention Facility, Manhattan.

The holding cell smelled of bleach, old sweat, and despair.

Selene sat huddled in the corner of the metal bench, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her grey suit the one she had worn to court thinking she would walk out a free woman—was wrinkled and stained. Her hair was a matted mess, the elastic tie long gone.

She wasn't the polished executive anymore. She was just Inmate 8940.

She rocked back and forth, muttering to herself.

“I didn’t mean it… I can fix it… I just need five minutes…”

She stood up suddenly, rushing to the bars. She gripped the cold steel,...