Michael lay on his small cot, his arms crossed behind his head and his eyes focused on the crisscrossing wire holding the mattress above him. His eyes followed it like a maze, twisting around the corners and darting from side to side. His optic journey wasn't fazed in the least as Sucre moved above him, causing the wire mesh to contract in some places and dip in others. The funny thing was, Michael wasn't thinking about mazes at all. He looked at the intricate pattern that lay above him, but he didn't see it – not with his mind. He saw Sara.
Sara. The only thing that made a bit of him die when he thought about leaving Fox River. Leaving her. Because after they were gone – she was gone. They would be on the run. Escaped fugitives.
And that was the way it would have to be. Lincoln was on Death Row. Lincoln was his brother. Michael was saving Lincoln.
But Michael couldn't save himself.
He was map-less – lost in a maze of confusion and helplessness, with the start long gone and no end at all. He was trapped in a maze he created, and this time there was no way out.