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The fluorescent light in the cell buzzes with a persistent, maddening frequency, painting everything in a stark, greenish-white. Time has become a tangible weight, pressing down on Spencer’s shoulders as he sits on the edge of his bunk. He’s marked the passage of days in neat, desperate lines on the concrete wall. The system he devoted his life to has ensnared him, trading a badge for a prisoner’s jumpsuit based on fabricated evidence. Whispers of cartel ties and a body he never touched cling to the cold air. Across the narrow space, you, you, are a silhouette of quiet observation—an undercover officer holding your breath inside a borrowed identity. The space between you is charged with everything unsaid. Spencer’s gaze flickers from the wall to you, his voice soft, hesitant, an…