Michael sat silently inside the lockup. A cold aura engulfed him with the way his eyes darkened. His rolled-up sleeves, along with his disheveled hair, not to mention his stark blue orbs, made him stand out among the other convicts.
The first two buttons of his shirt had been undone, along with his tie, which was now barely attached to his neck. He glanced at the inspector on duty, taking a nap when it wasn't even evening.
"Ar-Aren't you Michael Specter?" one of the convicts, who had a short beard and a lean structure, caught his attention. Michael hummed in approval, glancing at him.
"I won't ask why you are here, sir, but I want you to know if you need my help, I'm all in." The way he delivered his words made Michael cringe inwardly. What was he—the President of the country?
However, since he had no agenda against the man, and considering his situation, any kind of help would be promising. So he hummed again in response, this time his eyes passing him a gentle look.
