decade, was roughly weathered, with deep crevices around the eyes and mouth and

furrows whittled across the broad brow.

 

He had an unruly beard that matched the color of his hair. Facial hair wasn’t

really permitted in here, but he knew that no one had the guts to make him shave

it off.

 

He was like a timber rattler without the benefit of a warning sound, likely to

bite if you drew too close.

 

The eyes lurking under the tufted eyebrows were perhaps his most distinctive

feature: a pale, liquid blue that carried a sense of being both depthless and

also empty of life.

 

He sat up straighter when he heard them coming.

 

Still twenty-four hours to go. This was not a good sign.

 

There were two sets of heels walking in unison.

 

The door slid open and the pair of guards stood there. “Okay, Rogers,” said the

older guard. “Let’s go.” Rogers stood and looked at the men, confusion on his

features.

 

The guard said, “I know it was supposed to be tomorrow, but apparently the court