“I’m a police officer. My inspector planted me here to gather information on you.”

“Inspector … Hamish?”

Rory nodded, then looked down at the letter in his hand.

“I wrote you this. It explains everything. What I did, how I feel about you. Read it, you’ll never see me again, I swear. I’m gonna go away—”

“I don’t want a letter.”

Rory scrunched up his face. “Please, please read it.”

“No.”

Rory shoved it through the hatch. “You have to take it, I have to apologize, I have to explain.”

“I don’t want your apology.”

Rory flapped the letter. “Take it.”

Sebastian snatched it from his hand, then tore the letter in half, then into four, then into eighths, then he threw the pieces back through the door. “If you really want to explain, you’ll talk to me, you’ll explain to me while I can see you. While I can talk back.”

Rory licked his lips. “Okay… I—”

“No. Not here. Not where there’s people listening, and I’m trapped in a box. Friday. Meet me outside the prison.”

“What?”

“Be there.” Sebastian mumbled. “Then I’ll hear you out.”

He moved away from the hatch and lay down on the mattress on the floor.

“Sebastian…”

“That’s enough now, Rory,” The governor whispered, “You gave him the letter, he didn’t want it, now it’s time to go home.”

Rory got to his feet. “Home.”

****

Rory leaned against the wall outside the prison. He knew he should ask reception to call him a cab, and go back to his flat, but he couldn’t. His mind had slammed the breaks on, and he was stuck, lost in a pit of his own making, with no clue how to climb out of it.

He had to go back to his flat, he had to contact the hospital, and make arrangements for Erica, but he couldn’t even motivate himself to get a cab, let alone try to accept the loss of his sister. It wouldn’t matter anyway, he’d be dead by Saturday.

A suited man stepped out the reception door, and immediately dropped all his files. He cursed, got down on his knees, and began collecting them. Rory stared at all the scattered papers, and folders.

The man got to his feet, slotted the files under his armpit, then glared at Rory. “So you could’ve helped…”

Rory blinked out of his depressive state.

“What?”

The skin at the top of the man’s nose dented with a frown. His eyes were brown, the same shade as the hair on his head, and his cheeks were sprinkled with faint freckles.

“I dropped all my stuff over the ground, and you stood there and stared.”

“I’m sorry, I—can I help?”

“I’m okay now, thanks, but what about you?”

“Huh?”

“You look like you’re a million miles away.”

Rory sighed. “I really wish I was.”