ADRIAN'S POV
I knew exactly when Nate Cole would return and not because the clock told me, but because the prison atmosphere itself shifted when he is near, a heightened tension, a faint ripple of anxiety in the movements of the guards, a subtle sharpening in the air, like static electricity before a storm.
It was 7:15 PM. Past the official visitation hours, long after the general lockdown. He had followed my instructions: stay late, dismiss the unnecessary audience. He had come alone, compromised, wired, and furious.
The door to the reinforced meeting room opened, and there he was. Nate Cole. He was no longer wearing the pristine uniform of the morning; he was in civilian clothes, a dark, perfectly tailored suit jacket slung over a white shirt that was just a bit too tight across the shoulders. He looked exhausted, haunted, and dangerously volatile. He carried the fresh scent of the CSI office and the faint, cold metallic tang of blood and guilt.
