"If you think he won't survive in prison, then you'd better start preparing his funeral, because I'm not changing my mind."
Stephen Bennet rested his hands on the floor, hanging his head low. His mouth trembled, opening and closing. When he raised his head, he looked in the direction where Atlas had left.
"Atlas…" he whispered, wanting to crawl and beg him more. However, he knew Atlas. If Atlas said he wouldn't change his mind, he meant it.
"That brat…" he hissed through gritted teeth, only to realize everyone in the station was looking in his direction. Stephen felt his heart constrict with shame as he pushed himself up, trying to keep the last bit of dignity he had.
"Can I speak with my son?" he asked one of the officers. "Please, I have to see my son."
The officer sighed, glancing at the others. "I'm sorry, but we can't allow any visitors at the moment."
"But I'm family! I'm his father! How can I not see my son?!"
