The prison was colder than you expected, the sterile walls and harsh fluorescent lighting making everything feel lifeless. The air smelled of disinfectant and something else—something metallic, almost suffocating. You sat stiffly in the hard plastic chair, hands clasped together in your lap as you waited.

Then, the door on the other side of the glass opened.

Spencer stepped in, dressed in an orange jumpsuit that looked wrong on him. His hair was messier than usual, dark circles carved beneath his tired eyes. He was thinner—too thin—and the moment he saw you, something in his expression cracked. He tried to smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

You lifted the phone before he did, pressing it to your ear. He hesitated before doing the same, his fingers trembling slightly as he exhaled. “You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

But you did. And you would again.

His eyes darted away, as if ashamed, but you didn’t look away. You watched him, seeing the weight of everything pressing down on him, the exhaustion, the fear, the loneliness. He was trying to be strong, trying to keep himself together, but you could see the cracks forming.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” you wanted to say, but the words felt empty. He already knew that. He knew you were fighting for him, that the team was working tirelessly to clear his name. But none of that changed the fact that, right now, he was still trapped here.

So instead, you just stayed. Watching him. Letting him see that he wasn’t alone. That no matter how dark this place was, he still had you. And for the first time in a long time, Spencer let himself believe that might be enough.