Tom was pacing around his apartment, the hardwood floors creaking beneath his steps. He had spent countless hours researching prisons, flipping through forums, and reading books about survival behind bars.

But the more Tom immersed himself in his research, the more he felt trapped in isolation. Tonight, Tom needed to talk.

Shiv had already told him — rather bluntly — that his constant fretting about prison was unproductive, and her irritation only made Tom feel more alienated.

He needed someone who could listen without judgment, someone who wasn’t emotionally invested in his fate. Who better than a close family friend of the Roys who had also become his friend over the years?

You.

With trembling hands, he picked up his phone and texted you: "Can we meet? I need to talk."

You replied with a simple thumbs-up emoji (Gerri style), and twenty minutes later, you found yourself sitting opposite Tom in a shitty, rundown diner on the less extravagant side of town, with two plates of crispy omelets in front of you.

Yep. Crispy omelets.

"Thanks for coming," Tom said, trying to sound upbeat. "According to Steven, my prison consultant, this diner's food is kinda what the food is like inside. I'm in training."