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The distinctive tang of ammonia brought Caitlin back to consciousness. As the fog lifted from her eyes and her head, she looked around and found that she was still on the floor of the hearing room, cheek against the red carpet. For a moment, she thought she was back in Amanda's home and if she looked to the side, she'd see the bodies that were the first things she saw that fateful morning.

But there weren't bodies in this room, just a set of boots behind a pair of knees that rested on the carpet. Caitlin started when she saw how close they were to her face. Still caught in the grip of the memories, Caitlin struggled to push herself back, hands scrabbling on the worn red carpet, trying to get herself to her feet.

She didn't make it far before a large hand descended on her back.

"Stay down, pussy," growled a very familiar voice.

Caitlin didn't need to look anywhere to know that it was Sinclair kneeling there beside her. She could feel his heavy paw on her shoulder and she could smell his breath so very close to her face. She couldn't help the shudder that went through her body when she heard the voice and the malice behind it.

"Magistrate says that you're guilty, sweet thing. That means your Momma Wolf can't save you now."

Caitlin felt Sinclair's body sinking down over her back and she shuddered again, trying to keep from crying out, calling for Orfeo to help her. She remembered seeing Sinclair coming and going in the prison, and she also remembered that when he went to the yard, no one stopped him, not even Orfeo.

At that very moment, she realized just what she was facing. Nothing had sunk in until that point, with the big, strong paw on her back and the wolf's stinking breath just inches from her nose.

She felt her hands pulled behind her back and the cold metal of the handcuffs fastening around them, and soon after, she was roughly pulled to her feet. It took her two attempts to get her feet under her and stable, and when she finally did, she got her first look around the courtroom since the verdict was read.

It was empty now. All the chairs that had been filled with the spectators, news agencies and even her family were just as they were when she first arrived. Looking over the chairs, her eyes instinctively sought the section that her family was sitting in, and her heart sank when she saw the overturned chairs in the exact place her father was sitting. She could make out a red stain on the back of two of the chairs and she took a step towards them, only to be brought up short by Sinclair's paw on her arm.

"Where you going, pussy?" he asked in a condescending voice.

His eyes followed to where she was already looking, and she could almost feel his sneer at her shoulder.

"Oh, yeah. That's right, you were already out when they clubbed dear old daddy, weren't you?"

Sinclair laughed, and something inside Caitlin screamed out, fighting to be heard, though it never made it from her stomach. She just shook her head while she fought to tear her eyes from that stain on the chairs.

"Daddy's going to get a taste of his own tower, pretty one. Gonna be there for a week."

Sinclair laughed again and pulled on Caitlin's arms, dragging her towards the door.

"Let's go, then. There's things that need to be done, and I ain't got all day."

Caitlin finally dragged her eyes away and looked to see where Sinclair was taking her. She thought that she was going to be going out the way that she came in, but when she looked, she realized that he was taking her out the side door.

It didn't take him long, either. Caitlin had to fight to maintain her stride, and even in the short distance between her and the door, she almost lost her footing twice. Sinclair didn't even bother to open the door, just shoved her against it and through. The door wasn't latched, and Caitlin fell to the floor in a heap on the other side.

She couldn't think. She could only draw her legs up against her chest and lay on the floor. In the time that she had before Sinclair closed the distance, she only had time to whimper while fearful tears filled her eyes.

Then Sinclair was back on her and yanking her to her feet once again.

The light in the room was dim, but she could still make out that she was standing in a small room with a solid concrete floor. There was no furniture. The walls and the floor were all bare, and the walls were painted the same institutional blue as the rest of the prison areas. In the center of the floor was a small drain, barely big enough for a hand to reach down if the grate wasn't in the way.

The only thing in the room besides Sinclair and another guard that Caitlin didn't know was a hook on the side wall. From the hook hung a very familiar object: a spotless, gleaming, white robe with a matching belt.

Caitlin saw the robe and stopped as fear overtook every muscle. She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. She wanted to do anything but just sit there and stare at that piece of cloth hanging on the wall. But she couldn't take her eyes off it. The only thing that she could do was to make a low, keening moan as she played through what she saw of Poppy in the yard.

"They all make that sound, don't they?" Sinclair said jokingly to the other guard. "I told you."

The other guard shook his head and grinned, watching from his post by the door.

Sinclair moved closer and drew a pair of shears from his pocket. One of his big paws twisted the fabric of Caitlin's shirt while he cut the shoulder to the neck. Then he cut along the arm and down the side.

Caitlin still couldn't stop staring at the white robe there on the hook, even while Sinclair methodically cut the clothing from her body. It hardly registered that the clothes were the last gift to her from her mother. She couldn't think about that right now. She could only think about what she was going to be facing when it was all over.

Sinclair made quick work of her clothing, expert hands moving as if they'd done this many times before, and Caitlin wondered if he was there personally for every condemned, just to do this. Just to be there to witness their humiliation and their shame.

Standing nude in the small room in front of Sinclair and the other guard, she tried to cover herself, but her hands were bound firmly behind her back and all she could do was hunch over and cross her legs in a futile attempt to keep the two males from looking at her.

"You're lucky that there's a protocol here. A tradition," Sinclair said in his deep voice. "But don't you worry, pretty pussy. I'm gonna have you later on tonight."

Caitlin shuddered again and her legs buckled, sending her to the floor. She managed to keep herself from hitting her head on the floor, but just barely.

Sinclair just laughed and after a moment or two, Caitlin heard the jangling of keys and soon after, she felt the cuffs loosening from her wrist. Then they were off and she heard Sinclair putting them back in the pouch on her belt.

She put her hands under her shoulders and managed to push herself to her hands and knees, and for a moment, all she could do was kneel there, looking down at the drain. She wondered if Poppy had been here, in this room. Wondered if she'd seen the robe on the wall and had felt the exact same way. She wanted to throw up, and she tried to heave, but nothing would come. She felt the panic threatening to overtake her like it did in her cell the first night she was there. She knew that if it came, she would not be able to stop it, and then she realized that she didn't care. That she didn't have anything to lose if she let it win and just let herself go.

Before she could go down that road, though, she felt Sinclair's hand on her neck, gathering the skin and the fur between his fingers. The sensation brought her back from the brink, gave her something to focus on besides the thoughts that were racing through her head. It focused all of her on the shame and the anger that she felt for the man that held her in his grasp. She couldn't convince her body to act on the anger, but at least it was better than the panic that she was feeling just a moment ago.

She looked up at Sinclair and something of her feelings must have shown through because the big wolf laughed while he hauled her to her feet.

"Bit of a fighter, here," he remarked as he propelled her towards the wall. He didn't move with her, just shoved her in the direction that he wanted her to go.

Caitlin stumbled across the floor and ended up on her knees again beneath the robe. All the fear and all the anger she had stored inside finally erupted to the surface as the rough fabric of the robe touched her fur. She opened her mouth in a grimace and hissed loudly at the wolf, pressing herself up against the wall.

Another laugh was all that met her defiance.

"You're trying to be all big and strong right now, pretty girl, but you'll find out soon enough what it means to wear that robe."

His big fingers pointed at it as his face fell into a frown of annoyance.

"Now, put it on, or we'll help you."

Caitlin briefly considered refusing, but the thoughts of what they would do to her broke through her rebellious attitude. She knew that there was still the walk to the pole, and that she didn't want to be one that had to be dragged along on a leash to her fate.

The memory of the judge's words came through her mind again and for the first time since everything had happened, she felt a calm coming over her. There was much ahead of her in the next seven days, but at the end of it, she knew what was coming. There was nothing left for her after all of this, and the only choice left was whether she was going to be hysterical or whether she was going to face it.

She looked across the room at Sinclair and reached up to brush the tears from her eyes. Everything else about her life was taken away from her, but there was one thing that she still had control over. There was one final thing that she could do, and that was to make sure that she didn't give the big wolf the satisfaction that he so obviously wanted.

That thought was what she needed to push herself to her feet and finally reach up to the robe hanging on the wall. She couldn't say how long the new bravery would last, but for the time being, she let it fill her, and let the strange calm finally sink all the way over her. Her fingers closed over the rough, cool fabric and she lifted it off the hook. Slowly, with her eyes locked with Sinclair's, she slid one arm through the first sleeve, and then the other.

Eyes calm and focused, she cinched the belt around her, and she took a little gratification in the fact that she could see the anger smoldering behind the wolf's eyes. She knew that she'd never win, but by refusing to play into what he wanted, it gave her just a little bit of satisfaction.

She could also tell that Sinclair was only just able to hold himself back. She could see the tension in the wolf's body, the little trembling of his muscles as he fought with his instinct to teach her a lesson. She could see how much he wanted to. It was there, just behind his eyes, and in the teeth-baring grimace that seemed locked on his face. It was almost enough to make her composure waver, but she managed to finish tying the belt around her without faltering. It was something that she could look back at and be proud of, if only for a couple more days.

With the belt fastened and tied, she lowered her arms to her sides and stood facing Sinclair, waiting for him to come and collect her.

He didn't wait long, and it only took him a few strides to walk across the small room. Caitlin didn't flinch away from him, even when his strong hand closed painfully around her upper arm. She didn't fight, but neither did she help as he pulled her arms around behind her back. The clicking and the feel of the cold metal around her wrist were becoming familiar sensations after her time here in the prison, and she was prepared for them.

"Have your moment, girly," Sinclair whispered harshly in her ear. "There's always tonight."

With that, the big wolf propelled her towards the door once again and out into the hearing room. Caitlin didn't stumble this time, and it seemed that Sinclair was walking slower, giving her a chance to walk on her own instead of merely pushing her. She didn't question it, but she was grateful for the brief reprieve.

He led her out the doors she had entered only hours before, and when they opened, Caitlin saw her guards. Four large wolves stood in a neat formation, the same ones that she had watched from her window as they loaded their rifles and shot a poor innocent girl dead. Three of them kept their eyes forward, looking across the path formed by their bodies, weapons at the ready. The fourth, the younger one that Caitlin remembered as the one who dropped his bullet when he was trying to load his rifle, turned his head and looked at her as she walked out through the doors. On his face, Caitlin could see naked curiosity, and she felt her cheeks burning under his scrutiny. But she could see something else entirely. Doubt. She could see that he wasn't sure about what was going on, and perhaps he wasn't sure of his place in all of this.

She wanted to speak, wanted to tell him that what he was doing was wrong, and she thought that maybe he would be the one that would listen. But even though she wanted to, she could make no sound come from her mouth. Her jaw was locked in a closed-lip neutral expression as she tried her hardest to merely stay calm. While the calm she experienced in the dressing room was still there, it didn't extend to making her brave enough to speak.

She merely met his eyes with her own, putting an accusatory glare into them as she regarded him. Her jaw ached from the way that she had it clenched, but she dared not relax it for fear that she would finally break down in front of the four of them. The only thing that she cared about was maintaining her composure for the next few minutes.

Without a word, Sinclair nodded at the wolf in the front and the four of them turned simultaneously and began walking down the familiar hallway that had brought her to the courtroom. Caitlin didn't look anywhere but forward as she walked in the center of the guards. She noticed their weapons and the way that they marched alongside her, as if she was someone dangerous that would try to escape at a moment's notice. It almost made her feel stronger than she really was.

The walk through the corridors didn't take long, and when the door opened to her cell block, she let her eyes move, watching the other cells. Then she brought them right back to the front when the guards started moving again. She could watch out of the corner of her eyes as she moved through the walkway. The block was eerily quiet and every cell's occupant was standing at the bars, watching as the guards led her towards the door. She could see Daisy in her cell with her hands clasped around the bars, and when she got close enough, she could see the glistening of tears in the other girl's eyes.

She wanted to say something to the other girl. She wanted to thank her for her words that morning, but there was no way for her to break the step and the rhythm that she'd already assumed, and before she could find the strength to turn her head and do anything other than march between the guards, she was already past and out the door into the sunshine.

It was late afternoon, and the sun was just setting behind the walls of her block, casting long shadows up the walls. The guards stopped at the gate to the center courtyard and Caitlin stopped with them, looking ahead at the gate that separated her from the grass and the pole. How many times over the last few days had she stood here looking into that yard, wondering what the girl on the other side was feeling? Now it was her turn, and she understood completely.

Sinclair walked around from behind her and drew a set of keys from his pocket. The jingling sound of the keys mingled with the growing sound that she could hear from inside the prison, the murmurings of the girls as they started to speak about what was happening.

Caitlin took the moment or two that she had while Sinclair unlocked the gate to look up the walls and find the window of her cell that she'd been in just that morning. The sun was just shining against the glass, and as she watched, the shadow moved up over the very edge of the window sill.

Sinclair's hand on her shoulder brought her back and she started walking forward again, through the gate. The other guards stayed on the outside, two on either side, and she walked with her head up between them, despite the fact that she felt as if she wanted to find a dark corner and crawl into it for the rest of her life. She managed to keep it up until she got to the pole.

Sinclair stopped her and with his big hand on her chest, he pushed her back up against the white pole. He had stopped to pick up the collar when she had been looking at her old room, and he reached up with it.

It was cold and it was heavy when he fastened it around her neck. Sinclair tightened the bolt through it and then spun it so that the catch was to the pole. Then he reached down and picked up the chain from the grass. Caitlin noticed that it was still lying in the stain left from Poppy's blood on the grass.

She felt the tug as Sinclair pulled her collar back and with a final click, the lock fastened home and she was secured to the pole.

Sinclair took one step back and she held his eyes for a moment. Then with a precise movement, he turned on his heels until his back was facing her. He stood there for a moment, and then turned and marched out of the courtyard. Caitlin followed his movement with her eyes, and noted that it was the younger guard that closed the gate behind him, locking her forever away from her former life, and any chance of ever seeing it again.

Still she held herself standing upright until the last of the guards had filed back in to the building, leaving her alone standing at the pole. Through the window beside the door, she could see the familiar outline of Orfeo, of Momma Wolf. Her hand was pressed to the glass as she looked out at Caitlin, and that was the final straw.

Caitlin's legs gave out from under her and she sank to her knees as sobs wracked her body. For the first time during the whole terrifying day, she let the fear and the terror take her and all she could do was shake on the grass as the fear tore a sharp, anguished wail from her throat.