The heavy metal door of the cell swung open with a sharp clang.
The officer standing in the doorway froze mid-step, face pasting into a blank, wide-eyed stare as he took in the scene.
Migos was already fully dressed again, jeans zipped, shirt straightened, sitting on the bench like nothing had happened.
Daemon was on his feet beside him, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, eyes hard and defiant.
The officer blinked once, twice, then cleared his throat and stepped aside.
Behind him stood Daemon’s mother.
She filled the doorway in a wrinkled blouse and jeans, hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, face tight with anger.
Her eyes moved from her son to her husband and back again. She rolled them hard, the motion sharp and full of pure irritation, then planted her hands on
