Chapter Nine — A Shadow in the Court
The Ashfall Superior Court was a mausoleum pretending to be marble. Its cracked pillars and stained floors carried the weight of broken promises, the ceiling a nest for pigeons that never flew too far from rot. By nine in the morning the lobby was already a churn of suits, cops, whispering clients clutching folders that would vanish into Umbra's deep pockets by sundown.
Selene stood outside in the rain-slick alley beside the courthouse's side entrance, hood up, shoulder pressed to damp brick. She wasn't here for the judges — not today — but for the names hidden in the files that kept slipping through cracks. Somewhere inside, Silas Madox was arguing down a judge who used to care about the law. Somewhere deeper, Councilwoman Lena Pryce would be pretending to be angry about corruption while Umbra's hush money weighed down her purse like an anchor in her coat pocket.
Micah's voice buzzed through her earpiece, the only warmth cutting through the courthouse chill. "I've got eyes on Madox. He's in 2B, strutting like he owns the walls. Judge Merrin's the bench — used to be clean until The Whisper sunk claws in her husband's debts."
Selene said nothing. She adjusted the small knife tucked under her sleeve. This wasn't a job for blades yet — but sometimes a shadow at the back door reminded men like Madox that the city wasn't just a chessboard.
---
Inside, Iris Calder adjusted the collar of her trench coat, badge clipped tight to her belt, Navarro trailing behind with a stale cup of courthouse coffee. The marble corridor smelled like mold and the ghosts of trials that never ended. She kept her eyes forward, past the bronze plaques and the echo of her own footsteps. Navarro scanned every corridor, every bored cop on bench duty, every lawyer who didn't quite meet their gaze.
Iris paused when she saw the sign: District Attorney Marcus Yuen — Office. The door was half-open, inside a low voice murmuring excuses. She stepped closer — heard Yuen's sigh, a shuffle of papers, the unmistakable cold blade of Silas Madox's grin bleeding into the words.
Navarro whispered near her shoulder, "You sure you want to push this? We open this door, we can't close it."
Iris thought about Liam, always pressing his ear to doors, and Maya Cadee asking why Mommy worked so late when superheroes should fix things. She thought about Nathan's locked phone on the nightstand.
She pushed the door.
---
Selene watched them from the alley camera Micah fed to her phone. Iris — hair up, coat wet at the collar, voice like a gun when she wanted it to be. Navarro, sturdy beside her. And Madox — silk suit, shark eyes, hands folded like a prayer that never needed a god.
Inside the office, Madox turned when Iris stepped in. DA Yuen flinched — the ghost of an honest man clinging to the edge of his skull.
"Detective Calder," Madox purred, "to what do we owe this pleasure? I was just reminding the DA here how valuable time is. Yours must be even more precious."
Iris didn't blink. "Your client walked free on five counts of murder, three witnesses vanished, evidence misplaced. I'm here to remind you whose courthouse this is."
Madox's grin didn't slip. "Oh, Detective. We both know it isn't yours."
Navarro shifted beside her — a low, restless growl in his throat. Iris ignored him. She leaned forward, close enough to taste Madox's cologne, something expensive that couldn't cover the stink underneath.
"One day you'll lose, Madox," she said. Her hand curled over the folder she'd pulled from Dockside just before the lab fire — Moloch Horn's name buried in a maze of chemical contracts and Flock street money.
"One day you'll miss," Madox murmured, smooth as poison.
Navarro's hand brushed his belt — not the gun, but close. Iris stepped back first. She knew how to wait for storms to break.
---
Outside, Selene turned her head when the courthouse door opened. A man stepped out — raincoat flapping. Silas Madox's fixer, Silas's shadow when he didn't want to get his hands dirty himself. The man lit a cigarette under the archway. The smell drifted her way — old tobacco and silk lies.
She didn't move, didn't breathe. Just watched him flick the lighter closed, mutter something into his phone.
"Got your bogey," Micah said in her ear, voice a ghost through the drizzle. "He's headed toward the DA's lot. Want me to follow?"
"Do it," she whispered. Her eyes flicked to the courthouse sign above the door — Justice, chipped and pitted, ivy crawling up like veins. She'd gut the vines if she had to.
---
Inside Iris's head, a different vine choked her thoughts. Nathan's voice at breakfast — Work trip. Safehouse downtown. The same trip he'd taken three times this month, no receipts, no overtime report. Liam's sharp whisper behind the bathroom door — Dad's lying.
She pressed her palm to the cool marble wall just outside the DA's office. Navarro stood guard beside her, phone in hand, scanning the courthouse exits. The folder weighed down her bag like a stone she'd have to throw, sooner or later.
"You good?" Navarro asked.
She didn't answer. She was too busy counting cracks in the marble. Each one looked like a feather.
---
By dusk the courthouse was emptying. The news van from Ash TV idled at the curb. Evan Holt leaned against the driver's side, scribbling notes on a damp pad while Aria Morgan prepped inside, powdering her face in the mirror. Director Marcus Fenn would watch it all from his glass office, eyes flicking to the hidden file Umbra's Whisper had slid across his desk last night — which lines to read, which truths to bury.
---
Selene didn't go home. Home was a box of secrets and stitched-up skin that Camilla would curse open again if she kept fighting without rest. Instead she drifted to The Molted Wing, her shadow folding under the cracked neon. Reggie Slate nodded her in — no questions, a warm whiskey, cold jazz. Behind her, the world spun lies on every flickering TV. Inside, all truths bled out quiet.
She sat in her corner, shoulders hunched under the battered leather, eyes flicking to the door every time it creaked open. Somewhere out there, King Crow's men whispered about Moloch Horn like he was a ghost with horns. Somewhere deeper, Umbra's fixers wrote new lines for the same old ruin.
And in the corner booth, Rowan Pierce nursed a cheap drink, notepad open, eyes sharp as a blade. They hadn't met yet — not really. Not like they would. For now, Rowan watched the bar's reflection in the dirty window. One day that reflection would cut them both open.
---
Far above, on the courthouse steps now washed clean by evening rain, Councilwoman Lena Pryce gave a small press scrum the performance of a lifetime — voice trembling about integrity, justice, the people's right to the truth. Mayor Greaves stood at her side, nodding like a puppet whose strings pulled tight behind the marble walls.
And somewhere behind them, in a locked basement, Silas Madox filed away a new promise: the next corpse on a slab would carry feathers. The Flock would bleed the city just enough to keep Umbra fed.
---
Selene finished her drink. Reggie Slate wiped down the bar and didn't look at her stitched shoulder. Jazz played low — the promise of no questions hanging in the stale air like old smoke.
She stepped back into the night as Micah's voice sparked the wire again: "Got something for you, Kain. Midtown, midnight. The Herald's moving pieces. Moloch Horn might not be the only monster loose tonight."
She tugged her hood down low, slipped her blade into her palm. Justice didn't live here anymore — but the Black Raven did.
And tonight, Ashfall would remember her wings.
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END OF CHAPTER NINE