The South Block didn't go quiet after lock-up. It just traded the roar of the yard for the rhythmic clanging of steel doors and the low, predatory hum of men trapped in four-by-eight cages.
Donny sat on the edge of his cot, his back straight, eyes fixed on the small, high window of his cell. The "Iron Sunset" had faded into a bruised purple sky. Beside him, the concrete wall vibrated—three sharp knocks, followed by two soft ones.
The Radar was checking in.
"Donny," Johnny's voice came through the vent, thin but steady. "Artie was watching the tower during the whistle. He wasn't looking at the Warden. He was looking at Miller."
Donny's jaw tightened. If Artie Sterling was tracking Sarah, the game had changed. Artie didn't do anything for fun; he was a machine of efficiency. If he suspected the "No-Badge" silence was a front for something deeper, he'd report it to Valenti. And Valenti loved to break things that Donny cherished.
"He's looking for a leak, Johnny," Donny whispered back toward the vent. "He thinks the King has a hole in his armor."
"Louie's riled up," Johnny added. "He almost took a swing at the Viper when we were heading into the tiers. I had to pull him back."
"Tell The Shield to hold," Donny commanded. "If Lou snaps, the Warden puts him in the hole. Without the Shield, the Viper has a straight shot at you while I'm at work detail."
The sound of heavy boots echoed down the tier. Not the steady, rhythmic pace of a standard patrol, but the slow, deliberate stride of someone who wanted to be heard.
Donny stood up as the shadow crossed his bars. It wasn't a guard.
It was Artie Sterling.
Artie stood there, looking at Donny through the steel. He held a clipboard in one hand—a prop from his "clerk" job in the administrative wing, a position Marcus Holden had bought for him to ensure Valenti's crew had access to the prison's paper trail.
"You're a difficult man to file, Castello," Artie said, his voice flat and devoid of the neighborhood's grit. "The records say you're a dinosaur. A relic of a block that doesn't exist anymore. But I see you out there, looking at the sky like there's something written in the clouds."
Donny didn't move. "Maybe I just like the view, Artie. Something you wouldn't understand. You only see what's on the ledger."
Artie stepped closer to the bars, his eyes cold. "The ledger says you're losing. Paulie is moving the last of the old families out this week. By the time you get out of here—if you get out—your 'Block' will be a parking lot for people who don't know your name."
Artie's gaze shifted to Donny's bunk, then to his boots. "I wonder... what does a man like you think about in the dark? Is it the neighborhood? Or is it the help you're getting from the high ground?"
The threat hung in the air like a noose. Artie was fishing. He knew the signal in the yard hadn't been a fluke.
"Move along, Sterling," a new voice barked.
Officer Sarah Miller appeared at the end of the tier, her flashlight cutting through the dim light. She didn't look at Donny. She didn't let her gaze linger for even a second. To anyone watching, she was a hard-nosed guard doing a late-night sweep.
"Inmates are to be in their bunks, Sterling," she said, her voice echoing with authority. "You've got a pass for the admin wing, not the South Block tiers. Move it before I write you up."
Artie smiled—a thin, bloodless curve of the lips. He tipped his head toward Sarah, then back to Donny. "Just finishing the audit, Officer Miller. Everything seems to be in its place. For now."
He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the distance.
Sarah walked past Donny's cell. She didn't stop. She didn't speak. But as she passed, the heel of her boot clicked sharply against the stone floor—twice.
Safe. For now.
Donny reached under his mattress and pulled out a jagged scrap of a manifest. He had no pen, so he used a piece of charcoal smuggled from the kitchen. He began to write, his hand steady even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
The gold doesn't stay on the wire, Sarah. It stays in the letters.