In a darkened cell room of Angel City prison, Doran sat alone on the hard floor with his back pressed against the cold wall. His right leg was straightened against the floor while his left was bent, and his arm rested on his knee as he stared blankly in front.
The only light in the room was from a tiny bulb that roughly hung in the socket. It smelled of stale air and piss. The floor was stinky, the cutting chillness of it seeped through his prison attire making him numb.
But he didn't care for any of it.
His evil mind was planning, planning the destruction of the man who snatched away his wife.
His bail had been denied by the judge on the grounds that Doran needed to carry out his sentence and reflect on his actions.
