What Are You Doing Here?
"Get up. You have visitors," the officer said, nudging the prisoner lying on the hard cot. The old man groaned, his voice cold and raspy as he replied, "I don't want to see anyone."
"You don't have a choice. Move it," the officer snapped, his tone firm. "Miss Dawn doesn't have all day."
At the mention of the name, Corrick froze, his hand mid-air as he scratched his unkempt beard. Slowly, he turned his head to look at the officer. "What did you say? Who's here?" His voice, though steady, carried a hint of disbelief.
"Miss Dawn," the officer repeated impatiently. "Serena Dawn. She's here to see you."
Corrick's eyes gleamed with a spark of curiosity and something darker. A slow, cunning smile spread across his face as he rose to his feet, his stiff joints protesting with every movement. "Serena Dawn," he muttered to himself, the name rolling off his tongue like a secret he'd been keeping for years. "So, she finally decided to show up."