The cloth beneath the joint had already gone gray with hot water.
Felix kept his fingers away from the wall. Condensation ran down it, gathering at the edge of a grate before finding a drain beside the prisoner corridor.
“How long does that stay cool?” he asked.
The ship worker looked at the folded cloth.
“Not long enough.”
“The fault started this morning,” the guard said.
The worker replaced the cloth without looking at him.
Nola picked up the cloth by its dry corner and dropped it into a bucket already holding two more. Felix watched the steam rise.
