Redstone Construction CEO Learns About Blue Envelope in Hospital Recovery Room
“We will be there,” I said, rubbing my left wrist. My watch was in my pocket, its metal band cold against my thigh.
Mia did not look at the empty envelope on the table. She was staring at her own hands, her fingers laced together so tightly that her knuckles had turned a dull, bloodless white.
“Come on, Mia,” I said, reaching out to touch her elbow. “Let us get some air.”
She stood up slowly, her knees making a small popping sound in the quiet room. Her winter coat was still buttoned to her chin, the red wool scarf tucked around her neck like a bandage.
We walked down the long, green-painted corridor of the precinct, our boots clicking on the hard linoleum. The air in the hallway smelled of old cigarette smoke and damp winter coats, a heavy, municipal smell that seemed to cling to the walls.
Brandon was waiting by the front desk, his heavy brass pen tucked into his shirt pocket. He did not ask how it went; he simply stood up and reached for the glass door to hold it open for us.
