“Honor, huh?” Joss’s voice is brittle, his tiny hands balled up into fists so tight that his fingernails are biting into his palms, drawing blood.

“What the fuck does honor mean, anyway? Yes, I stole from other children. I’m a cheat and a thief and a bully. Is that what you want me to say, O high and mighty one? You’re the one in the prison uniform, not me.”

It’s a low blow. He doesn’t care. Not when there’s a lump in his throat and his eyes are burning and he can’t figure out why.