As soon as the alarm went off, Leonard stood up, he didn't sleep with Skye, he slept in his room, stacks, and stacks of papers scattered on his table, pens laid on the far end of the room, he has thrown and broken so many away, his glass was empty, the bottle too, it was a one in a million chance that he didn't wake up to a hangover.
He got ready, and went to the federal prison, Leonard didn't take his usual car. This one's older, quieter, the kind you drive when you don't want to be remembered, no licence plate tricks, just dust on the rims and windows that don't roll down all the way.
The drive was long, heat-heavy, and silent. Nothing but empty roads and the humming ache in his lower back where the bullet never healed right.
The prison was just outside the city, low, and wide like it's been pressed into the dirt. The gate guard scans the ID, pauses, he saw the name he immediately cleared his throat and then lets him in
