The courthouse was quiet in a way that made everything feel heavier. Even the click of my shoes against the tile floor echoed like something we weren't supposed to hear.
Chris hadn't let go of my hand since we stepped out of the car.
I could feel how tightly he was holding it. His grip wasn't painful, but it was rigid, almost like he needed the contact to stay tethered. His jaw was tight, eyes focused ahead as we followed Anne through the security checkpoint, down a sterile hallway, and finally into the hearing room.
This wasn't a public trial. Caesar wouldn't be here. That was something I kept reminding myself over and over, even though the nerves in my stomach didn't seem to believe me. This hearing was private—only the parole board, our lawyer, Chris, and I. Direct victims only.
Still, my chest was tight, and Chris looked one wrong word away from shattering.
Anne turned to glance at us before stepping through the door, her expression calm but alert. "Ready?"
