For most of a century Ironwood Penitentiary kept its worst inmates on a single corridor of cells at the back of the prison. The guards called it the Row. The inmates didn’t call it anything; they counted the days.
When the order came to close Ironwood, the cells were meant to be emptied and the execution chamber bricked up. The Row’s last executioner, a man the inmates only ever called the Keeper, filed the closure papers, sent the guards home and stayed behind with the keys.
He has been keeping the old timetable ever since. Names go into his ledger in neat copperplate, a date beside each one, and the date is always kept. He refuses to call what happens next an execution. To him the chair is Mercy, the last kindness a condemned prisoner will be shown.
The inmates never learned the Keeper’s real name, and they never would have guessed it. Beneath the warden’s cap is the Undertaker, the same patient villain who once nailed two strangers into coffins in Buried Alive, now trying on a new disguise and a new way of ending his games.
Tonight’s page carries your team’s names. Your cell doors have been unlocked for the customary last walk, and the generator behind the chamber door has begun to charge. You have until twelve.
Somewhere on the Row is the way out that the Keeper made sure nobody would find: in the cells, in the chaplain’s visiting room, in the ledger itself. Find it before the lights dim for the final time, or find out what Mercy feels like.
The date beside your name has always been kept. Make tonight the first time it isn’t.