The library was long and low, with shelves running in rows from the entrance wall to the far end, the sort of shelves that gained books by being left alone rather than by any act of curation.
Dog-eared paperback fiction, outdated almanacs, a line of Bible editions all in identical condition, periodicals stacked neatly until, after the first several months of whatever year had been assigned to the effort, even neatness seemed to lose conviction.
The reading table sat in the center, and six metal stools were fixed to the floor.
The overhead strip lighting was the flat white, with the talent for making every color in the room look as though it had already given up.
One guard stood near the door, stationary at the one point in the room that gave him a full line of sight across every row and the table at once.
There was no window in his coverage, no patrol cycle to exploit.
He noted it and went to the shelves.
There were four other inmates in the room.
