“Name for the record?" the clerk asked.
“Sarah Knight."
“Spell it."
“Sarah, S-A-R-A-H. Knight, K-N-I-G-H-T."
“Raise your right hand." The clerk's voice was tired and practiced. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
“I do."
Alex's eyes found hers from the second row and stayed there, steady as a rail. Mr. Knight sat to his right, jaw set, tie correct. Mason was a wall by the aisle. The ADA nodded once, a signal: *We start simple, we end clean.*
“Ms. Knight," Assistant District Attorney Ruiz began, stepping into the square of light between counsel tables, “on the afternoon of August twenty-fourth, where were you?"
“In a bridal boutique on Carrow Street."
“Why?"
“To try on a dress with pockets," Sarah said, because truth didn't require embroid
