The courtroom felt different when Judge Keene returned.
Maybe it was the way the gallery suddenly straightened.
Maybe it was the way Jonathan Redd smirked like a wolf who smelled blood.
Or maybe it was the way Aldric Benedict inhaled slowly, felt the weight of his lungs, and realized—
He was exhausted.
Not physically.
Not mentally.
But existentially.
He was a law student.
And yet here he was, trapped in a game built by shadows.
Ms. Varo sat in the gallery, her legs crossed, hands folded, emotion hidden but eyes razor-sharp. She wasn't here as a mentor. She wasn't here as an observer.
She was here as a judge of her own—quiet, merciless, perfect.
Rowan Hale sat beside Aldric, stiff and pale, his fingers twisting nervously. He kept whispering tiny things under his breath—pleas to God, curses at fate, apologies to people he never named. Rowan looked like a man walking on the edge of a cliff and waiting for the wind to betray him.
Judge Keene adjusted her glasses, glanced over the courtroom, and spoke:
"We will resume. Mr. Redd, continue your argument."
Redd didn't rise immediately. Instead, he brushed invisible dust from his sleeve, savoring the moment. When he finally stood, he did so with the casual arrogance of someone who had survived a thousand battles and expected victory by default.
"Your Honor," he began, "as I previously stated, the evidence I plan to introduce is… supportive in nature."
"Supportive?" Keene's eyebrow raised. She wasn't stupid.
Redd continued smoothly.
"Character-adjacent material. It outlines behavioral consistencies that—"
Aldric stood immediately.
"Objection. Inadmissible. Character evidence is barred unless the defense opens the door, which we haven't."
His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through like a sharpened blade.
Judge Keene nodded once.
"Objection sustained. Mr. Redd, move on."
Jonathan Redd didn't glare—no, he was too experienced for that. Instead, he smiled the slow smile of a man who had just recalculated the battlefield.
"Very well," he said.
He approached Rowan on the stand.
"Mr. Hale," he said almost kindly, "let me ask something simple."
Aldric felt his stomach clench.
This was it.
The tone alone told him Redd was setting a trap.
"On the night of the incident," Redd continued, "did you—or did you not—communicate with the individual who allegedly fled the scene?"
A murmur spread across the courtroom.
Aldric's eyes narrowed.
This question…
If Rowan answered yes, Redd could twist it into "coordination" or "collusion."
If Rowan answered no, Redd could push the narrative of "consciousness of guilt"—that Rowan denied communication to hide involvement.
Either answer = guilty.
A perfect trap.
Rowan looked at Aldric for guidance.
Aldric didn't respond.
He froze.
For the first time since stepping foot into courtroom 366, the pressure didn't just sit on his shoulders—it crushed him.
He lowered himself back into his seat slowly and exhaled through his nose.
Redd folded his hands behind his back like a patient schoolteacher waiting for a child to choke.
Judge Keene tilted her head.
"Defense? Any objection?"
Aldric didn't speak.
One second passed.
Then two.
The entire courtroom was silent except for the ticking second hand of the clock above Judge Keene's bench. Even Rowan began to sweat, swallowing so loudly it echoed.
Redd smiled wider the longer Aldric stayed silent.
He knew what this meant:
Aldric was cornered.
Thirty seconds.
A bead of sweat slid down Aldric's neck.
He replayed everything.
Every file.
Every inconsistent detail.
Every wrinkle in the testimony.
Every strange phrase Rowan had muttered when they first met.
One minute.
Judge Keene leaned forward.
"Mr. Benedict?"
But Aldric didn't answer.
Redd cleared his throat loudly, mocking.
"Your Honor, if counsel is unprepared—"
Aldric closed his eyes.
He wasn't unprepared.
He was thinking.
Something was wrong with the case story.
Not the evidence.
Not Rowan.
The story.
He opened the folder again.
Rowan's timeline.
Rowan's phone call logs.
The witness statements.
There.
A tiny line he hadn't noticed before.
The anonymous caller made contact BEFORE the alleged crime occurred.
Not after.
Before.
Meaning whoever framed Rowan had already planned it hours in advance.
Meaning Rowan wasn't reacting—
He was being maneuvered.
Aldric opened his eyes.
"Your Honor."
His voice was no longer strained.
It was steady.
Cold.
Judge Keene blinked. "Yes?"
Aldric stood, every inch of nervousness washed away.
"Objection to the question on constitutional grounds.
My client is not required to incriminate himself—
especially when the prosecution is aware the alleged communication occurred before the incident, not after."
Redd's face twitched—just once.
Aldric continued, stepping forward like a hunter.
"Mr. Redd's question assumes guilt by implication.
Not only is it misleading, but it conceals a critical fact:
The prosecution knew Rowan Hale received an anonymous call before the event, not during or after.
That changes the fundamental nature of the narrative."
Gasps rippled through the courtroom.
Ms. Varo slowly uncrossed her legs.
Her gaze sharpened—interested, surprised.
Judge Keene frowned at Redd.
"Is this correct?"
Redd stayed silent.
A dangerous mistake.
Keene spoke again:
"Mr. Redd.
Is it true the call occurred before the alleged crime?"
Redd's jaw clenched.
"…Yes, Your Honor."
Keene stared at him coldly.
"Withdraw the question. Mr. Hale does not need to answer."
Then she turned to Aldric.
"Defense may continue."
Aldric bowed slightly.
"Thank you, Your Honor."
Rowan exhaled in visible relief.
The audience whispered among themselves.
This was no longer a mock trial.
This was a real battlefield.
The rest of the hearing moved quickly.
Redd struggled to regain footing.
Aldric defended with surgical precision.
Keene cut through manipulation attempts like a scythe.
Finally—after deliberation—
Judge Keene returned with the verdict.
"Rowan Hale…
You are acquitted on all charges.
You are free to go."
Cheers erupted from the back.
Rowan collapsed into his seat, tears in his eyes.
Aldric felt a wave of emotion wash over him—not joy, not triumph—
Relief mixed with dread.
Because he knew what he had just done:
He didn't just beat Jonathan Redd.
He didn't just free his client.
He had exposed something.
Something bigger.
Something dangerous.
Something the person in the shadows would not appreciate.
Rowan hugged Aldric fiercely.
"Thank you—thank you, man, I— I don't know how—"
Aldric gently pulled back.
And then—
Without warning, Rowan stood, turned to the entire courtroom, and shouted with every ounce of breath he had:
"IF I DIE, GET KIDNAPPED, OR SOMEONE TRIES TO BEAT ME AGAIN—
IT WAS THE PERSON TRYING TO FRAME ME!"
The room exploded into chaos.
People gasped.
Reporters stood.
The court officers moved reflexively.
Jonathan Redd's face drained of color.
Judge Keene slammed her gavel.
"ORDER!
ORDER IN THE COURT!"
But Rowan wasn't done.
"This isn't a coincidence!" he yelled, voice cracking.
"Marcus—my friend—was beaten nearly to death just because he was involved! If anything happens to me, it was them! THE ONE HIDING!"
Silence dropped like a guillotine.
Everyone stared at him.
Even Aldric… froze.
Because Rowan wasn't speaking like a man freed.
He was speaking like a man who'd realized the truth—
He was still a target.
Ms. Varo stood slowly, her expression unreadable.
Her voice—soft, polite, yet terrifying—cut through the noise:
"…Interesting."
Redd slammed his briefcase shut and stormed out.
Judge Keene recessed the courtroom.
But the final thing Aldric heard before the doors opened—
Before the gallery spilled out like a hive disturbed—
Was Ms. Varo whispering quietly, almost amused:
"Let's see, Aldric…
how you handle a war you never signed up for."
And Aldric Benedict realized—
This wasn't the end of the case.
It was the beginning of the hunt.