I curl my fingers into the fabric of my jacket as Cormac pulls into the visitors’ lot.
My stomach is already tight with nerves, but seeing the prison in person makes everything worse.
Cormac frowns at me. “Are you sure you’re good?”
I don’t look at him when he cuts the engine, I don’t trust my face not to give me away, so I nod, because that’s easier than explaining the knot in my chest. Easier than saying no, I’m really not, because it doesn’t change the fact that I need to do this.
We step out of the car and walk toward the entrance, but as we approach the thick glass doors, I stop short, my feet refusing to carry me any closer.
Cormac is beside me, solid and silent.
I don’t look at him, but I feel the question in the way his hand gently reaches for mine.
“You don’t have to do this,” he says.
I swallow, my throat tight. “I know.”
He exhales slowly, like he’s bracing himself. “We can leave. I’ll find another way.”
“We don’t have anything else to go on.”
“I’ll find something.”
“That could take months or years, and we don’t know if we have that kind of time.”
Cormac exhales slowly through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Fiona?—”
I turn to face him and place a steadying hand on his chest. “If Freddy knows something, then this could be the answer we’ve been looking for.”
“And if he doesn’t, I will have dragged you into this prison for no reason.”
“At least then we’ll know for sure.”
Cormac studies me for another beat, then nods once.
“Let’s get this over with.”
I’ve never been inside a prison before, and after today, I hope I never have to again.
The lobby is stark and cold, lit by harsh fluorescent lights, and it smells like disinfectant with a faintly sour undertone. Areception desk sits behind a pane of reinforced glass, with a bored-looking guard stationed behind it.
Cormac steps up to the glass. “We’re here to see an inmate. Freddy Walton.”
The guard pauses, his fingers hovering over the keyboard.
“Is this a scheduled visit?” he asks without looking up.
“Yes.”
That finally earns us his attention.
He studies us both for a long moment, his eyes flicking between Cormac and me.
I shift on my feet, suddenly feeling like I might end up in handcuffs if I make the wrong facial expression.
“I’ll need an ID,” he says.
Cormac hands his over immediately. I do the same, though my hand shakes as I slide it across the counter.
