The courthouse smelled like old paper and disinfectant, like something that wanted to be clean but had seen too much to ever really manage it.
Scarlet hated that she noticed things like that now. Ever since the injury, her brain latched onto details and wouldn’t let go—textures, sounds, the echo of footsteps in a hallway that felt too narrow even though it wasn’t.
Ward pushed her through the metal detectors, one hand steady on the wheelchair handles, the other hovering near her shoulder like he was afraid she might disappear if he didn’t keep contact. The chair rattled softly over the tile, every vibration traveling straight up her spine. She clenched her jaw, willed her legs not to twitch, not to betray her.
People stared. Not rudely, not always. Some with curiosity, some with pity, so
