The air in the visiting room of Westhaven Penitentiary was stale, sterile even, with a hint of disinfectant and something faintly metallic, like rusted iron or dried blood. The ticking of a wall clock echoed through the otherwise silent chamber, each second scraping along Leonard's nerves. A guard unlocked the door with a loud clank, his gaze unreadable as he gestured for Leonard to step in.
Leonard adjusted the cuff of his navy coat, his stride calm, composed, purposeful. His black dress shoes tapped lightly against the cold linoleum floor as he entered, his tall figure casting a long shadow under the harsh fluorescent lighting.
Behind the thick glass divider, Miranda was already waiting. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her orange prison jumpsuit somehow still managing to look like a statement piece on her. Her dark brown hair was tied back messily, wisps framing her face. Her usual designer makeup was long gone, but the smirk tugging at her lips hadn't changed.
