The courtroom was quiet in the way places of obligation always were—sterile, indifferent, unmoved by the weight of human decisions. The walls were cream-colored, the air faintly stale, and the ceiling fan rotated lazily as though it had no enthusiasm for what was about to take place.
Roy sat stiffly beside Karen.
His suit was perfectly tailored, dark and expensive, but it hung on him like a borrowed skin. His shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched, eyes fixed straight ahead as though looking anywhere else might undo the resolve that had been forced upon him. He hadn’t slept well in days. The nights had been long, filled with thoughts he refused to complete and memories he wished would stop resurfacing.
Karen, on the other hand, looked… composed.
She wore a simple cream dress—not white,
