"Pendelton."
Arthur didn't move at first. The voice was heavy, deep, and familiar. He blinked, slowly turning his head to see Officer Miller standing beside the table.
"Up on your feet, Pendelton," Miller said, his face an unreadable mask.
Arthur's heart sank into his stomach. In a facility like this, being singled out by a senior officer during breakfast almost always meant bad news. A cell search. A disciplinary write-up for some minor, forgotten infraction. A problem with his file.
"Did I do something wrong, Officer?" Arthur asked softly, his voice raspy from disuse as he pushed himself up from the bench.
"Just fall in behind me," Miller replied, turning toward the heavy steel doors that led out of the cafeteria and toward the administrative wing. "And keep your hands behind your back."
Arthur complied immediately, falling into step two paces behind the towering guard. As they walked down the long, bright corridors, past the rows of locked doors and security checkpoints, Arthur felt a growing sense of detachment. He wondered if his wife had called to report an emergency at home. Had something happened to Leo? Was Lily sick? His mind raced through a horror gallery of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrifying than the last.
They stopped in front of a heavy door marked Administrative Interview Room B. Unlike the standard visitation area, this door didn't feature a thick pane of bulletproof glass or a bank of mounted plastic telephones. It was a solid wooden door with a single brass handle.
Miller reached for his keys, selected a brass key, and inserted it into the lock. He turned it, and the bolt clicked open with a soft, solid thud.
Miller turned to look at Arthur. For the first time in eighteen months, Arthur saw something softer in the old guard's eyes—a flicker of warmth beneath the heavy, weathered brow.