The cell was like any other, a rough concrete box with bars opposite a dull-green wall and seat. The air echoed with clangs and clanks as doors opened and closed in the distance. They had taken her boots and jacket, so Alice shivered in the basement cold. She’d blacked out after Rothmore died, and had awoken in the back of a police Hopper taking her to FBI holding. From there, she’d been dumped into this bleak cell. They had her file, knew who she was, but locked her up anyway.