A prison is never short on stories.

　　The eighteen-year-old girl, dressed in a white long dress, still carried an air of youth despite her now-clumsy gait. Her hands, resting awkwardly at her sides, betrayed her nervousness.

　　I pulled my gaze away and looked at Lucas. Compared to earlier, I had calmed down considerably.

　　"What's the truth?"

　　Lucas took a drag from his cigarette, his free hand reaching to hold mine. I instinctively tried to ...