Theo sat stiffly on the metal chair. Across the cold steel table, George was escorted in by two guards, his wrists cuffed together in front of him. The orange jumpsuit hung loose on his frame, making him look smaller than Theo remembered.
Marla's call earlier still echoed in his head, the reason he had come here today. "George's mental health evaluation is out. He's confirmed to have depression—and he was on Depozem the day he took Daisy from the bridal boutique. He might use that as an excuse to slip out of this mess."
Theo's jaw tightened as George finally sat down, the cuffs scraping against the table.
"Didn't think you'd actually come," George drawled, his voice rougher than Theo remembered.
Theo didn't answer right away. He studied George—the hollowed cheeks, the restless twitch of his fingers, the way his eyes darted too quickly, too sharp. Depozem or not, Theo couldn't decide if he was looking at a broken man… or a dangerous one pretending to be weak.
