A prison is never short on stories.
The eighteen-year-old girl, dressed in a white long dress, still carried an air of youth despite her now-clumsy gait. Her hands, resting awkwardly at her sides, betrayed her nervousness.
I pulled my gaze away and looked at Lucas. Compared to earlier, I had calmed down considerably.
"What's the truth?"
Lucas took a drag from his cigarette, his free hand reaching to hold mine. I instinctively tried to pull back, but he tightened his grip, leaving no room for escape.
"Let's talk in the car. I stood all night; I'm tired!"
Stood all night?
I realized I could no longer remain indifferent around Lucas. Even his exhaustion in his voice made my heart ache.
We climbed into the back seat. I deliberately leaned against the car door, putting
