The courtroom is still heavy.
The air feels thick.
Like the walls are pressing in.
Mercer sits down at the prosecution table.
Her expression is calm.
Satisfied.
She's done her damage.
Now it's Calloway's turn.
He stands slowly. Deliberately.
His movements are measured.
He doesn't rush.
He walks toward the witness stand.
His hands are empty. No notes. No folders.
Just him.
And Jack.
The contrast is immediate.
Mercer was sharp.
Aggressive.
A blade cutting through lies.
Calloway is different.
Softer.
Patient.
He stops a few feet from Jack.
His voice, when he speaks, is gentle.
"Jack," he says.
Not Mr. Morris.
Just Jack.
The jury notices.
The older woman with glasses leans forward slightly.
The angry man in the back row uncrosses his arms.
Calloway's tone shifts the entire room.
"How old were you when you lost your parents?"
Jack blinks.
The question catches him off guard.
He expected legal maneuvering.
Technicalities.
Not this.
"Twelve," Jack says.
His voice is quiet.
Matter-of-fact.
But there's weight behind it.
Calloway nods slowly.
"Twelve," he repeats. "That's young."
Jack doesn't respond.
Calloway takes a step closer.
"What happened after they died?"
Jack's jaw tightens.
"I went into the system."
"The foster system?"
"Yes."
"How long were you in foster care?"
Jack hesitates.
"A few months. Then I was adopted."
Calloway nods.
"By who?"
"A couple," Jack says. "The Morrises."
"And they raised you?"
Jack's hands tighten slightly on the armrests.
"They took me in," he says. "I don't know if 'raised' is the right word."
Calloway's expression doesn't change.
But the jury reacts.
The older woman writes something down.
The younger juror—mid-twenties, blonde—shifts uncomfortably.
"What do you mean by that?" Calloway asks.
Jack exhales slowly.
"They gave me a place to live," he says. "Food. Clothes. But it wasn't... it wasn't a family."
"Did you feel like you belonged?"
Jack's throat tightens.
"No."
The word hangs in the air.
Simple.
Honest.
Devastating.
Calloway lets it sit.
He doesn't rush to the next question.
He lets the jury absorb it.
The older woman's expression softens.
The angry man is watching Jack now.
Really watching.
"Do you still speak to them?" Calloway asks.
Jack shakes his head.
"No."
"When was the last time you saw them?"
Jack thinks for a moment.
"Years ago," he says. "I don't remember exactly."
"Why don't you speak to them?"
Jack's jaw clenches.
"Because they never wanted me," he says quietly. "They took me in because it was the right thing to do. But they never... they never loved me."
His voice cracks slightly on the last word.
Just barely.
But the jury hears it.
The younger juror's eyes widen.
The older woman's hand goes to her chest.
Even the skeptical man in the back row looks uncomfortable.
Calloway nods slowly.
"So you grew up alone," he says.
Jack doesn't answer.
He doesn't need to.
Calloway walks back toward the defense table.
He picks up a glass of water.
Takes a slow sip.
Then he turns back to Jack.
"Let's talk about your wife," he says.
Jack's stomach drops.
Leena.
The courtroom shifts.
People sit up straighter.
Mercer's eyes narrow.
Calloway walks back toward Jack.
"You were married, correct?"
"Yes."
"To Leena Morris."
Jack nods.
"How long were you married?"
"7 years."
"And you loved her?"
Jack's throat tightens.
"Yes."
Calloway's voice is still gentle.
"What happened?"
Jack's hands are trembling now.
He forces them still.
"We broke up," he says.
"Why?"
Jack hesitates..
"We... we weren't good for each other," Jack says.
Calloway nods.
"Did the breakup affect you?"
Jack's jaw clenches.
"Yes."
"How?"
Jack doesn't answer immediately.
His mind is racing.
How do I explain this?
How do I make them understand?
"I spiraled," Jack says finally.
Calloway's expression doesn't change.
"What do you mean by 'spiraled'?"
Jack's breathing is shallow.
"I stopped caring," he says. "About anything. About myself."
"Did you hurt yourself?"
Jack's hands tighten on the armrests.
The courtroom is silent.
Dead silent.
"Yes," Jack says quietly.
Calloway takes a step closer.
"How?"
Jack's throat is tight.
He doesn't want to say it.
Doesn't want to admit it.
But Calloway is waiting.
And the jury is watching.
"I tried to kill myself," Jack says.
The courtroom erupts in whispers.
Judge Harlow bangs her gavel.
"Order."
But the damage is done.
The jury is staring at Jack.
The older woman's hand is still on her chest.
The younger juror looks like she might cry.
Even the angry man's expression has shifted.
He's not angry anymore.
He's... something else.
Sympathetic.
Maybe.
Calloway lets the silence sit.
Then he speaks.
"How did you survive?"
Jack's voice is barely above a whisper.
"Someone found me."
"Who?"
Jack hesitates.
"Bella."
Calloway nods.
"Bella Crane?"
"Yes."
"And she helped you?"
Jack nods.
"She saved my life."
The courtroom is silent again.
Calloway walks back toward the defense table.
He picks up a folder.
Opens it.
"After your suicide attempt," Calloway says, "what did you do?"
Jack's breathing is still shallow.
"I rebuilt," he says. "Slowly."
"How?"
"I focused on my business," Jack says. "I tried to... to find purpose."
Calloway nods.
"And did you?"
Jack hesitates.
"I tried."
Calloway walks back toward Jack.
"You donated to charities, didn't you?"
Jack nods.
"Yes."
"What kind of charities?"
"Community programs," Jack says. "Youth centers. Adoption agencies."
Calloway's voice is still gentle.
"Why those specifically?"
Jack's throat tightens.
"Because no one helped me," he says quietly. "When I was a kid. No one cared. I didn't want other kids to go through that."
The older woman is writing again.
The younger juror is leaning forward.
Even the skeptical man is nodding slightly.
Calloway turns to the jury.
"You see a man who looks dangerous," he says. "Tattoos. Scars. A blind eye."
He pauses.
"But you've heard his story."
He turns back to Jack.
"Those scars aren't from violence," Calloway says. "They're from survival."
He walks closer to the jury box.
"Jack Morris grew up alone," Calloway says. "He lost his parents. He was abandoned by the people who were supposed to care for him. He fell in love. And when that love ended, he tried to end his own life."
He pauses.
"But he survived."
Calloway's voice is firm now.
"And when he rebuilt, he didn't just rebuild for himself. He rebuilt for others. He donated. He gave back. He tried to make sure no one else would suffer the way he did."
He turns back to Jack.
"That's not a criminal," Calloway says. "That's a survivor."
The courtroom is silent.
The jury is watching.
The older woman's expression is soft.
The younger juror is nodding.
Even the angry man looks uncertain now.
Calloway walks back to the defense table.
He picks up another folder.
"The prosecution has presented testimony," Calloway says. "From individuals who claim Jack was involved in criminal activity."
He opens the folder.
"But there's no physical evidence tying Jack directly to any crime."
He turns to the jury.
"No recordings. No documents. No proof."
He pauses.
"Just testimony. From people with unclear motives."
Calloway walks toward the jury box.
"The prosecution wants you to believe that Jack is a monster," he says. "But they haven't proven it. They've shown you assumptions. Suspicions. But not certainty."
He turns back to Jack.
"Don't judge him by what he looks like," Calloway says. "Judge him by what he's done to rebuild."
He walks back to the defense table.
"No further questions," he says.
Judge Harlow nods.
"Does the prosecution wish to cross-examine?"
Mercer stands.
"No, Your Honor."
Judge Harlow looks at the clock.
"We'll take a fifteen-minute recess," she says. "Then we'll hear closing arguments."
She bangs her gavel.
The courtroom erupts in whispers.
Jack stands slowly.
His legs feel weak.
The marshals approach.
But before they reach him, Calloway steps forward.
"Your Honor," he says. "May I approach?"
Judge Harlow nods.
Calloway walks toward the bench.
Mercer follows.
They speak in low voices.
Jack can't hear what they're saying.
But he sees Calloway's expression.
Urgent.
Desperate.
After a moment, Judge Harlow nods.
"We'll address this after the recess," she says.
Calloway walks back to Jack.
"What was that about?" Jack asks.
"I'm filing a motion," Calloway says quietly. "For house arrest."
Jack's eyes widen.
"What?"
"You've been targeted in detention," Calloway says. "Twice. Your safety is at risk. I'm arguing that you should be placed under house arrest instead."
Jack's heart is pounding.
"Will it work?"
Calloway hesitates.
"I don't know," he says. "But it's worth a shot."
The marshals approach.
Jack is led out of the courtroom.
Back to the holding cell.
The fifteen minutes feel like hours.
Jack sits on the bench.
His hands are still trembling.
House arrest.
If Calloway can pull this off—
If I can get out of here—
But he doesn't let himself hope.
Not yet.
The door opens.
The marshals lead him back to the courtroom.
Judge Harlow is already seated.
Calloway is standing at the defense table.
Mercer is at the prosecution table.
Her expression is cold.
Judge Harlow looks at Calloway.
"Mr. Calloway," she says. "You've filed a motion for house arrest?"
"Yes, Your Honor," Calloway says. "My client has been targeted multiple times in detention. His safety is at risk. I'm requesting that he be placed under house arrest pending trial."
Judge Harlow looks at Mercer.
"Does the prosecution have a response?"
Mercer stands.
"Your Honor," she says, "Mr. Morris is a flight risk. He has the resources and connections to disappear. House arrest is not appropriate."
Judge Harlow nods slowly.
She looks at Jack.
Then back at Calloway.
"Motion denied," she says.
Jack's stomach drops.
"Mr. Morris will remain in detention," Judge Harlow continues. "We'll reconvene in two days for closing arguments and jury deliberation."
She bangs her gavel.
The courtroom erupts in whispers.
Jack's sighs.
Two days.
Two more days in that cell.
The marshals approach.
Jack stands.
They lead him toward the side door.
Calloway is gathering his papers.
He doesn't look at Jack.
Jack glances back at the courtroom.
Mercer is watching him.
Her expression is calm.
Cold.
She stands.
Walks toward the side door.
The marshals pause.
Mercer steps closer to Jack.
Her voice is low.
Controlled.
"My husband was murdered," she says.
Jack's blood runs cold.
"He was a good man," Mercer continues. "A prosecutor. He testified against one of your allies."
She pauses.
"And then he was killed."
Jack's mind is racing.
Her husband.
Who—
I don't remember—
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack says.
Mercer's eyes narrow.
"Yes, you do," she says. "You just don't remember him. Because there have been too many."
She steps closer.
"In two days," she says quietly, "you'll be behind bars. For the rest of your life."
Jack's jaw clenches.
"We'll see," he says.
Mercer smiles.
"Yes," she says. "We will."
She turns and walks away.
The marshals lead Jack through the door.
The hallway is cold.
Sterile.
Jack's mind is racing.
Her husband.
She thinks I killed her husband.
Did I?
I don't know.
I don't fucking know.
The marshals lead him down the hallway.
Back to the holding cell.
The door closes behind him.
Jack sits on the bench.
His hands are still trembling.
Two days.
Two more days.
And then—
He doesn't let himself finish the thought.
Outside, the sun is setting.
The light filters through the small window.
Orange.
Fading.
Jack closes his eyes.