The air in the visitation room turned to ice. Ethan’s small, trembling index finger didn’t point to a stranger or a hardened criminal.

"This is suicide," I whispered, watching the armed guards walk the high-wire wall.

"It's not suicide if we use the front door," David said, reaching into his glove compartment and pulling out an official arrest warrant stamped with a forged judge's signature. "My brother hasn't alerted the prison authorities yet because he was waiting for Rayner to finish the job on you two. They still think I’m an active officer of the court."

"And if they check the database?" I asked.

"Then we have about five minutes before the alarms start blaring."

David looked at me through the rearview mirror. "Ava, you and Ethan stay in the truck."

"No," I said firmly, grabbing the ammo box. "I spent six years refusing to look my mother in the eye because I was a coward. I’m not standing outside while she dies."

David stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Hold tight."

We walked up to the heavy steel intake gates. David flashed his legal credentials and shoved the forged emergency deposition paper through the glass to the night sergeant.

"Emergency access granted by Federal District Court," David said, his voice commanding and devoid of fear. "We need five minutes with inmate Sarah Miller before the state transfer protocol locks the floor."

The guard looked at the paper, then looked at me and Ethan. "The kids can't go into the secure wing."

"They are material witnesses named in the stay of execution," David lied without blinking. "If you delay this federal order, Sergeant, your name will be at the top of the obstruction charge."

The guard hesitated, then hit the red buzzer. CLANG. The heavy steel door swung open.

We were led down the long, fluorescent-lit concrete hallway of Death Row. The atmosphere was stifling, heavy with the stench of copper, bleach, and pure desperation. Inmates pressed their faces against the reinforced glass windows of their cells as we passed.

At the very end of the hall, behind two locked steel gates, sat my mother.

She was sitting on the edge of her narrow cot, her face buried in her hands. When the heavy door creaked open, she looked up.

"Ava?" she gasped, her voice trembling. "Ethan? What... what are you doing here? It's dangerous!"

"Mom," I threw myself against the glass divider, my tears overflowing. "I read the letter. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry I didn't open them."

"Oh, my baby girl," she wept, pressing her hand against the glass right where mine was. "You don't need to apologize. I never blamed you."

"Sarah, we don't have time," David interrupted, whipping out a portable hard drive and plugging it into a rugged military tablet he pulled from his coat. "The SD card from the greenhouse. We need the secondary password your husband gave you before he died."

My mother froze. "The password? Thomas told me... he told me it was the date we lost our first baby. But David, you can't use it here. The prison network is monitored by—"

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Suddenly, the red emergency lights across the ceiling began to flash violently. A deafening siren blared through the corridors.