The prison yard was a gray sprawl under a late April sky, the air sticky with the promise of rain as Marcus leaned against the fence, his jumpsuit damp with sweat. Five days had bled by since Ortiz’s letter about Darius, four since Lena’s reply hit his hands—Kev’s set, Darius swears it. Hearing’s tomorrow—I’m there. Two days left scratched on his wall, now one, and the appeal loomed like a storm he couldn’t outrun. Freedom was close—close enough to taste—but the shadows of Kev’s shaky truth and Darius’s betrayal kept it bitter on his tongue.

Ray sat nearby, hunched over a chessboard with a wiry kid from D-block, his gray braid swinging as he moved a pawn. Marcus watched, half-listening to the clink of weights and the low murmur of bets, his mind on Ortiz’s last call through the counselor: Kev’s detoxed—rough, but talking. Darius’ll bring him. It’s tight. Tight didn’t cut it—not after eight months of bars, not with Lena’s voice thinning in her letters, a thread he feared snapping.

“You ready?” Ray called, not looking up, his voice a gruff anchor.

“Ready as I’ll get,” Marcus said, kicking at the dirt, his hands flexing. “Kev holds, I walk. He folds, I’m done.”

Ray grunted, taking a bishop. “He’ll hold—or your brother’ll drag him. Bet on that.”

Marcus nodded, wanting to believe it, but Darius’s I didn’t know echoed hollow after Ortiz’s reveal. He’d written Lena last night—Tomorrow’s it. Love you—short, raw, all he could manage with the weight pressing down. The final stretch was here, and he’d face it bruised but standing, Ray’s steady presence a lifeline he’d carry out if he could.

In Atlanta, Lena sat in her apartment, the dusk light slanting through the blinds, a suitcase half-packed on the floor. The hearing was tomorrow—Fulton County Courthouse, 9 a.m.—and she’d drive down at dawn, four hours to face the judge, Marcus, the truth. Ortiz had called an hour ago: Kev’s in a motel, Darius watching. He’s shaky but prepped. She’d thanked him, her voice steady, but her hands shook as she folded a sweater, the fairy lights on the balcony flickering like a memory she couldn’t shake.

Darius’s face from the shop five nights back—guilt, defiance—stayed with her, his I’m fixing it a promise she didn’t trust. She’d confronted him again yesterday, caught him at a gas station near I-75, his pickup loaded with gear. “He better show,” she’d said, voice steel, and he’d nodded, eyes hard: “He will—swear it.” She’d left him there, the echo of his past failure loud, but Kev was the key now, and she’d bank on that, not him.

Her phone buzzed—Jade, relentless. “You set?” Jade asked, her tone bright but edged.

“Yeah,” Lena said, zipping the suitcase, her fingers catching on the clasp. “Leaving at five. Ortiz says Kev’s ready—Darius too.”

“Good,” Jade said. “You’re bringing him home, Lena—I feel it. Call me after.”

“Will do,” she said, and hung up, the words a weight she wanted to believe. She pulled Marcus’s last letter from her bag—Tomorrow’s it. Love you—his scrawl shaky but fierce, and her chest tightened. She’d written back fast, mailed it yesterday: I’m there—Kev’s set. We’re close. Love you. But Elliot’s shadow lingered, that night in his office a bruise she hadn’t confessed, and it made her love feel fragile, a thread stretched to breaking.

She stood, pacing to the balcony, the city humming below. The hearing was a final stretch—freedom or fracture—and she’d fight for it, for Marcus, even as the past echoed loud. Darius’s dodge, her own slip with Elliot—they were shadows she’d face tomorrow, in that courtroom, beside the man she’d promised forever to. She grabbed her keys, the suitcase, and locked the door, the fairy lights winking behind her, a beacon for a home she hoped to rebuild.

Marcus scratched 1 on his wall that night, the tally a heartbeat, and lay back, the bunk creaking under him. Ray’s snores rumbled below, a steady rhythm, and he clung to it, to Lena’s We’re close, as the final stretch narrowed to hours. Freedom was a breath away—or a lifetime—and he’d meet it head-on, whatever it brought.

The prison cell was a black box at midnight, the only light a thin slash from the hall cutting across the floor. Marcus lay on his bunk, eyes tracing the tally on the wall—1, scratched deep, a mark that could mean everything or nothing by morning. The block was quiet, just Ray’s snores below and the distant clang of a guard’s keys, but sleep wouldn’t come. His hands rested on his chest, the bruise under his eye a dull pulse, and his mind churned—Kev’s shaky voice, Darius’s dodge, Lena’s We’re close a lifeline he couldn’t let snap.

He rolled onto his side, the mattress creaking, and pictured her—braids loose, eyes fierce, the way she’d looked through the glass that first visit. Eight months had stretched them thin, her letters shorter, his heavier, but tomorrow could stitch them back—freedom, her hand in his, the porch swing he’d promised. Or it could break them, Kev folding under the DA’s glare, seven years stretching to forever. He clenched his fists, the hope a blade in his gut, sharp and double-edged.

Ray stirred below, his voice gravelly in the dark. “Quit tossing, kid. You’re shaking the damn bunk.”

“Can’t,” Marcus muttered, sitting up, his feet hitting the cold floor. “Tomorrow’s it—can’t stop seeing it.”

Ray grunted, rolling over, his braid a shadow against the pillow. “Seeing don’t change it. Kev shows, you walk. He don’t, you’re still breathing. Sleep—need your head straight.”

Marcus nodded, though Ray couldn’t see, and lay back, forcing his eyes shut. He’d trusted Kev once, Darius always, and both had burned him—Darius’s silence that night a wound still raw. But Lena—he trusted her, her fight, her Love you inked on paper. The final stretch was hers too, and he’d hold that, bruised and restless, until the gavel fell.

At 5 a.m., Lena climbed into the Corolla, the engine coughing awake as the sky bled gray over Atlanta. Her suitcase sat in the back, a thermos of coffee in the console, Marcus’s letter tucked in her jacket—Tomorrow’s it—a weight against her heart. She’d barely slept, the fairy lights winking through a night of pacing, Darius’s He’ll show and Elliot’s I’m here tangling in her skull. The hearing was four hours away, Fulton County Courthouse, and she’d be there—front row, eyes on Marcus, fighting with every breath.

The highway stretched dark and empty, the dashboard clock ticking toward dawn—5:17, 5:18—each minute a step closer. She sipped the coffee, bitter and scalding, and gripped the wheel, her knuckles pale. Ortiz had texted at midnight: Kev’s at the motel—Darius says he’s steady. See you there. Steady didn’t mean much with Kev, not after the dealer, the drugs, but it was all she had. Darius’s shadow loomed—his guilt from five nights back, his past failures—and she prayed he’d deliver this time, for Marcus, for her.

Her mind drifted, the road a blur. Elliot’s face flashed—his touch, that night, a mistake she’d buried but couldn’t erase. She’d drawn the line, kept him at work’s edge, but the guilt stayed, a crack in the love she’d promised Marcus. Tomorrow could mend it—him free, them whole—or widen it, her betrayal a secret she’d carry alone. She turned up the radio, some old R&B cutting through the static, and sang under her breath, a tether to the girl she’d been with him, before the bars, before the fall.

The miles ticked down—Macon, then Forsyth—the sky lightening to a bruised purple. She’d see him soon, his broad shoulders in a borrowed suit, his eyes finding hers across the courtroom. She’d stand for him, fight for him, even as the echoes of her own past—Elliot, Darius—pressed close. The final stretch was here, a road she’d drive blind if it brought him back.

Marcus woke to the guard’s bang at 6 a.m., the cellblock stirring, his tally glaring—0 now, the day here. Ray clapped his shoulder, gruff and steady: “Go get it, kid.” He stood, joints popping, and felt the stretch end—hours to freedom or fracture, Lena waiting on the other side. He’d face it, battered but whole, for her, for them.

Lena hit Fulton County at 8:45, the courthouse a gray bulk against the sky, her coffee gone cold. She parked, grabbed her bag, and stepped out, the air thick with rain and promise, the final stretch a heartbeat away.