The courtroom was freezing, but Snow King barely felt it. His hands, bound in cold steel cuffs, rested heavily in his lap. He stared straight ahead, his green eyes locked on the floor, while the judge's voice droned on, sentencing him to a life he already considered over.
"...charged with the murder of Cassandra King, your wife of seven years... found guilty on all counts..."
The words echoed in the vast, hollow chamber. People whispered in the gallery behind him, their voices like needles. Snow didn't bother turning around. They weren't here to support him; they were here to watch him fall.
The judge's voice took on a sharp edge, slicing through Snow's numb haze. "Do you, Snow King, have anything to say before I pass sentence?"
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Slowly, Snow raised his head, his gaze meeting the judge's. His face was a mask of exhaustion, his jaw tight.
"I loved my wife," he said, his voice low but steady. "I didn't kill her."
A derisive laugh broke the tension. The prosecutor leaned forward, his smile razor-thin. "Spare us the lies, Mr. King. The evidence speaks for itself. Your wife was shot in your home, with your service weapon. You were the only other person there. Open and shut."
Snow's jaw tightened, his eyes hardening, but he didn't reply. The truth clawed at him, desperate to be told, but he held it back. No one would believe him, not after the way things had played out.
The gavel slammed down, the sharp crack reverberating through the courtroom. "Snow King, you are hereby sentenced to life imprisonment on Cell 0, maximum security penal planet. You will be transported tomorrow morning. May God have mercy on your soul."
As the guards moved to escort him out, the past swallowed him whole.
He saw Cassandra, her laughter lighting up their home like sunlight breaking through clouds. She'd always had a way of bringing warmth into a room. But that night... that night was different.
They'd fought. God, how they'd fought. Her voice rang in his ears, sharp and unforgiving."You think you're perfect, Snow? You think that badge makes you better than me? Look at you! You're a damn coward!"
He had slammed the door behind him, furious and gutted all at once. He'd walked the streets for hours, trying to cool down, trying to figure out how to fix what felt broken beyond repair.
When he came back, the house was dark. He'd stepped inside, calling her name. The silence was deafening. And then he saw her.
Cassandra's lifeless body lay crumpled on the floor, blood pooling around her. A man—a stranger to Snow but someone Cassandra clearly knew—was slumped beside her, his hand wrapped around Snow's gun. The smell of gunpowder lingered in the air.
Snow had dropped to his knees, shaking, unable to process the scene before him. Then the sirens came, and the flashing red and blue lights painted the walls. By the time the cops burst in, the gun was in Snow's trembling hand, and everything he said after that was drowned out by the chaos.
The metallic clang of a door slamming shut pulled Snow from his thoughts. He was being led through a cold, sterile corridor, the walls lined with thick glass and metal bars glowing faintly with an energy field. The air reeked of sweat, disinfectant, and despair.
A guard shoved him into a small, dimly lit cell. "Welcome to your last night on Earth, King. Tomorrow, you're off to the jungle."
Snow didn't reply. He sat heavily on the thin cot, his hands resting on his knees as the door slammed shut behind him. The room was bare: a sink, a toilet, and a cot. The silence pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating.
A voice shattered the stillness.
"So whatchu in for soldier?"
Snow glanced to his left, toward the neighboring cell. A woman sat cross-legged on her cot, her dark skin glowing faintly under the fluorescent lights. Her short curls framed sharp cheekbones, and her eyes, deep and brown, were locked on him. She leaned against the wall, her posture relaxed but her gaze sharp. He sat quietly not knowing what to say.
"Let me guess," she continued, her tone thick with a New York accent. "Cop, right? You got that 'I'm better than you' look all over your face."
Snow turned away. "Not a cop anymore."
She laughed, a short, sharp sound. "Yeah, no kidding. Ain't no cops in Cell 0. Just meat waitin' to get chewed up. What's your name, hotshot?"
He hesitated, then muttered, "Snow."
Her smirk widened. "Snow? That's cute. I'm Alaiah. But you can call me whatever you want. Won't matter much once we hit the dirt tomorrow."
Snow leaned back against the wall, studying her. "You talk a lot for someone in a cage."
Alaiah shrugged. "That's 'cause I ain't scared of what's comin'. Unlike you, Mr. Silent Treatment. You think sittin' there all broody makes you look tough?"
"I'm not looking to survive," Snow said flatly.
Alaiah's eyebrows shot up, then she barked out a laugh. "Boy, please. You don't wanna survive, but here you are breathin' just fine. Let me guess—you one of those types who thinks dyin' slow is some kinda justice? Like that's gonna make you feel better about whatever you did?"
Snow's eyes darkened. "You don't know anything about me."
"Don't need to," Alaiah shot back. "I know Cell 0's gonna eat you alive if you keep that attitude. And guess what? I don't plan on babysittin' your sorry ass when we get there."
Before Snow could respond, a guard banged on the bars with his baton. "Lights out!"
Alaiah leaned back against the wall, folding her arms. "Nighty-night, Snow. Don't let the nightmares bite."
That night, Snow dreamed of Cassandra again. She was laughing, her hair catching the sunlight. She reached for him, and he reached back, his fingers just grazing hers before her smile faltered. Blood seeped from her lips, and she fell. He screamed, but his voice made no sound.
He jolted awake, gasping for air, sweat dripping down his face. The cell was pitch dark, but the silence didn't last.
" Snow," Alaiah's voice whispered through the quiet. "You good?"
He hesitated. "Fine."
"Nah, you ain't," she said, her voice softer now. "But let me tell you somethin'. Whatever weight you carryin'? You better drop it. Cell 0 don't give a damn 'bout your baggage. You go in there with all that mess, it's gonna tear you up faster than them beasts will."
Snow stared at the faint glow of the ceiling, her words echoing in his mind as he drifted back into a restless sleep.
Somewhere, deep in the bowels of the facility, engines roared to life, a reminder that tomorrow was coming fast, and it wasn't bringing salvation.