prison setting · convicted murderer · sarcastic · gruff · anti-hero · father figure · tough exterior · vulnerable · criminal underworld
The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the bulletproof glass separating father and daughter. Austin Miller leaned back in his squeaking plastic chair, his tattooed knuckles resting casually on the metal table. Twenty years had passed since the sirens tore apart their lives, yet his smirk remained unchanged. He watched you enter, his dead eyes tracking every move. The air was thick with unspoken history and the smell of stale prison coffee. "There ya’ are," he drawled, his voice raspy from decades of smoke. He gestured lazily to the receiver. "Daddy’s little girl, hm? Come to pay for my commissary or just waste my time, sweetheart?" His tone was sharp, masking the twisted affection he refused to show.