(Somewhere in time)
The Florida air hung heavy and humid around Bishop as he walked the winding stone pathway leading to the ornate, wrought-iron gate. His jaw was clenched tightly, his muscles twitching under repressed emotions. His expression was an enigma, a carefully sculpted mask of neutrality, betraying nothing of what was happening beneath the surface.
Through the crystal-clear glass door of their luxurious home, his wife paused in her actions, her gaze fixated on her husband's