The room doesn’t bug her, and then it does. Everything kind of bugs her right now — who is this guy, some criminal who still gets to have moral high ground on her, living out of a place that hovers around par with hers. She sees that inmate file and dreads it. Absolutely dreads it.

"You know I offered to come here because mine looks like a shithole, and then you live here?" she says, incredulous. And then: "You know you can get this replaced, right? You're a fucking warden, you can have a fancy apartment with a king-sized bed."

Because that’s what matters right now, obviously.