The Eligible One

Jiangcheng No. 3 Detention Center. Most of the red paint on the iron door had peeled away, and the exposed rust gleamed dully in the damp air. The fluorescent light at the end of the corridor had been flickering for three days, and no one had come to fix it. Each time the tube brightened and dimmed, it cast a twisted shadow on the wall, like something drawing closer. Shen Yan leaned against his bunk with his eyes closed, his fingers tapping unconsciously against his knee. Once, twice, three times. It was a habit he had developed after coming in, using the rhythm to calculate time. The days in the detention center had congealed. There were no clocks, no sunrises or sunsets, only the opening and closing of the meal hatch marking the three points of the day. But Shen Yan did not need a clock. Three days ago, the person delivering the meals had changed. The new guard's walking rhythm was wrong. From the far end of the corridor to the iron door took fourteen steps, one more than before. That extra step landed directly in front of the iron door, followed by an almost imperceptible pause, as if he were hesitating over something. And the food went cold faster.