Meanwhile, elsewhere, in a cold police station shrouded in dark shadows, Lucas had arrived. He sat behind the glass booth, his gaze sharp as he looked at the man sitting across from him, Daxter the man behind the glass.
The two were separated by a thick panel of glass and telephone receivers on each side. Daxter appeared far calmer than Lucas, even a faint smile lingered on his lips.
Lucas was the first to pick up the receiver, pressing it to his ear with a blank, stern, and unreadable expression. Across the glass divider, Daxter picked up his own receiver, still wearing that faint smile.
"What brings you here?" he asked without preamble.
Their relationship was not something newly forged over a year or two. Daxter had known Lucas since he was eighteen, now the man was well over thirty. He knew Lucas wouldn't come all the way to visit an enemy, especially in prison, unless it was for a very important reason.
