The blade dragged across the metal bedpost with a satisfying screech. Crouched in the corner of his cell, Pepan Manja kept a watchful eye on the door, his hands working diligently to sharpen the blade to a lethal edge. Another inmate had smuggled the knife from their kitchen work detail, hiding it and giving it to Pepan in the laundry room. It was a simple table knife with a dull blade, but with some sharpening, it would do the job. Hardin folded his arms. “Some bounty hunter named Cami. Small-time. Don’t think she caught anyone here.” He shrugged. “You wanting some a’ that or something?”