Becca dropped. A second later, a muffled thud, then a whisper. "Clear!"

She poured a bottle of water onto the linoleum floor just outside the cell.

Susan was forty-five, a former structural engineer who had taken a fall for a bridge collapse she hadn't caused. She was smart, patient, and observant—the kind of inmate who knew the shift changes better than the warden and the exact wear patterns of the ventilation fans.

However, there was the old maintenance chute.

When the guard, a rookie named Miller, stepped in to check on her, his boot hit the water. He skidded, his legs flying out from under him. He hit the floor hard, the wind knocked out of him. Before he could react, Susan was there, not hurting him, but dragging him into the cell.