A slam resounded throughout the brightly lit questioning room, just enough to make the slightest shiver crawl up Jack's spine. The detective, a burly guy with a receding hairline and cleanshaven face, rounded the table, a file in hand. He tossed it onto the table, and it slid ( a few inches. )

Sometime in the afternoon, after some careful consideration, Alex Vogel decided that there was little to do in his office by way of paperwork, and with nothing accessible to occupy his free time, he left it, opting to prowl rather listlessly ( down the hallways instead. )

Ten minutes.

It had taken ten minutes, upon moving from solitary to a regular room with a bunk and all that came with it, for Noah to decide whether he wanted top or bottom bunk. There wasn't any easy way to pick one, and in the end he settled ( with top )

More often than not, Jack was absent from his cell. It had nothing to do with his occasional dislike of Julian or an unconscious -- or conscious, whichever -- need to distance himself from the dramaqueen, but moreso to do with how he was never really very good at staying in one place ( for too long. )

Sometime at two o'clock in the morning, Noah sits a quaint little café, across the table from a girl with brown curls, a necklace made of rope and beads, and a frosty blue painted ( onto her nails. )