The judge walked in from a side door—black robes, gray hair, and a face carved from stone. No smile. No blink. Just a hollow weariness, like he'd long stopped hoping for anything good.
"You may be seated."
We sat.
Judge Preston adjusted his glasses. Papers shuffled.
"This hearing is now in session. Case 4381-A: State versus Adrian Lukas Nachtmann Kranz. Charges include sexual assault, aggravated assault, bodily harm against a minor, and public endangerment."
He looked up. Eyes locked on mine.
"You stand accused of a violent attack on your classmate, Evelyn Carter. Repeated assault. Emotional trauma. A disruption severe enough to incite public panic."
He shifted his gaze toward the prosecution.
"Counselor Williams, proceed."
Williams rose, sleek and polished. Not a hint of emotion.
"Your Honor, the State will present testimony from over twenty student witnesses. Multiple faculty members were on-site. Though security footage failed, human testimony is consistent."
He opened a folder.
"Forensics reveal the defendant's fingerprints on the victim's wrists, arms, and neckline. DNA beneath her fingernails matches the defendant."
He shut the folder with a snap.
"We will also present medical reports and photographic evidence of injuries, alongside recorded testimony from four eyewitnesses."
He stepped back.
"This was not self-defense. It was a premeditated act of violence. The victim deserves justice."
The judge turned to Garvey.
"Your response, Mr. Garvey?"
Garvey didn't move far. He kept close to me.
"We acknowledge the evidence, Your Honor. But context is critical."
He looked at me, then continued.
"Adrian Kranz is a minor. No priors. No history of aggression. What he does have is a history of being targeted. Bullied. Humiliated."
Murmurs rippled.
"The victim pulled him from a lunch line. Directed him into a janitor's closet, where two boys then stood guard outside. He was cornered. Pressured. Set up."
Garvey paused.
"It wasn't malice. It was panic. Months of torment boiled over. And yet, despite this, my client stands willing to accept responsibility."
He turned to the judge.
"We ask that the court weigh this full picture before sentencing."
The judge gave a slow nod. Then his gaze returned to me.
"Adrian Lukas Nachtmann Kranz… how do you plead?"
I stood. My throat was dry. My hands trembled slightly.
"…Guilty."
The word barely left my lips.
Gasps filled the courtroom. Evelyn didn't even flinch.
"Plea entered: guilty," the judge noted flatly.
He gave a small nod to the bailiff. "Remove the jury for deliberation."
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. I could hear the ticking of the courtroom clock.
Then—the door opened.
The jurors returned, silent and composed.
The judge re-entered behind them and took his seat. He glanced toward the forewoman.
"Has the jury reached a verdict?"
"We have, Your Honor."
"Please state your decision."
The forewoman stood.
"We find the defendant, Adrian Lukas Nachtmann Kranz, guilty on all counts."
Silence. Then the judge turned to me again.
"Mr. Kranz, this court acknowledges your guilty plea and the jury's verdict. We have reviewed all evidence, and your sentence shall reflect the gravity of your actions."
He turned to a new page.
"Due to your age, you will serve one year in a juvenile detention facility. Upon turning eighteen, you will be transferred to a state correctional institution to serve the remainder of your sentence."
He looked up, voice calm, emotionless.
"You are hereby sentenced to thirty-six years. You may be eligible for parole after seventeen years. With good behavior and program participation, your time may be reduced by five years. Parole, however, is not guaranteed."
My knees buckled. I grabbed the table for support.
"What?!"
The judge looked unmoved. "This is a mercy under state law."
I turned to Garvey, livid.
"You said under fifteen. You promised."
He stammered, caught off guard. "I… I was told the DA would support a lighter term—"
"You lied to me!"
The judge pounded his gavel. "Order. Mr. Kranz, compose yourself."
"NO!" I roared. "You people set me up! I did what you said! I trusted—"
The guards moved fast. Grabbed my arms.
"Get him out of here," the judge ordered. "Now."
I struggled. Yanked against them. But then I saw her.
Evelyn.
Still seated. Still quiet.
I stared.
"You think this is over?" My voice turned sharp. Low. "You lied. You destroyed my life."
Her eyes met mine—and she flinched.
"One day, Evelyn. Seventeen years. Thirty. Doesn't matter. I will find you."
She shook. Her mother wrapped around her. Her father stood and yelled:
"JUST KILL THAT BASTARD!"
The gavel banged again. "ORDER!"
"You'll never forget me," I hissed. "Every night you sleep, you'll wonder where I am."
And in that moment…
She trembled. Real fear in her eyes.
And I smiled.
For the first time since my mother's funeral, I felt something that wasn't hollow.
It wasn't peace. Wasn't victory.
It was joy.
Because she was afraid.
And that meant she knew I was real.
They dragged me down the hall, still shouting. My voice echoing down the corridor.
"SEVENTEEN YEARS, EVELYN! START COUNTING!"
They threw me into the cell. The metal door slammed.
I hit the floor.
Face against the concrete, I whispered:
"Let's see who survives."