As Fredrick Garrison walked down the dusty lane with no definite destination, his eyes still adjusting to the overwhelming brightness of the world outside the prison walls, a voice, calm and authoritative, called out to him.
"Fredrick Garrison."
The sound of his full name, spoken so formally, made him freeze. Hearing his given name spoken with such precision was unnerving. He turned slowly, his shoulders tense, expecting a guard who'd had a change of mind or an old associate with a new problem.
Instead, he saw a man stepping out of a fine, polished carriage that had pulled up silently beside him. The man was young, dressed in an impeccable attire that spoke of immense wealth. He carried himself with an air of power that was unmistakable. It was Eric.
As it turned out, the Royal Penitentiary had sent him a quiet message that morning, informing him that the man connected to his wife's family history was going to be released that day.
