Three weeks until the execution date. Lincoln was three cells down, trying not to hope.
The footsteps faded. The drain gurgled once, as if the prison itself was already afraid. Would you like a continuation of that scene, or a different angle on the first season?
He heard the soft tap-tap from the wall. Lincoln's signal: You awake?
The fluorescent light in Michael Scofield's cell flickered once, then held steady. He sat on the edge of his bunk, the tattoo on his right arm — a demon's face with intricate Celtic knotwork — hidden beneath his gray undershirt. But he wasn't looking at his arm. He was staring at the drain in the floor.