“You’re free now, Harrove,” the guard said, dismissively handing me the envelope with my discharge papers. “Don’t come back.”
I nodded silently, my heart pounding too loudly in my chest. With each step outside the prison complex, my legs felt like jelly. Along the chain-link fence, I spotted an inconspicuous gray sedan. Behind the wheel sat Jasmine Overton, the only person who hadn’t turned away from me throughout these years.
Jasmine jumped out, her short hair glinting in the sun, and enveloped me in a tight embrace. I felt a lump rise in my throat, but I held back, resolved not to cry anymore. I had decided long ago that tears were for the weak.
“Let’s get out of here.” Jasmine glanced around nervously, as if the guards might change their minds. “Better not to attract attention.”
I climbed into the passenger seat, the smell of leather and old takeout welcoming me. The car pulled away, taking me from the place where I had spent seven years, two months, and eleven days of my life. Jasmine switched on the radio, trying to fill the awkward silence, then turned it off after a minute.
