The Jakarta High Court felt like a colosseum. The air was thick with the scent of floor wax and the electric hum of a hundred cameras. Outside, the world was screaming for blood, but inside, the silence was a heavy, suffocating shroud. I sat in the front row of the gallery, my spine straight, wearing a suit of ivory silk that made me look like a sacrificial lamb—or a silent executioner.
Adrian was led in through the side door. He was in a navy suit, his hands free of cuffs for the proceedings, but the way he carried himself suggested a man who was already resigned to his fate. He didn't look at the judge or the jury. He looked at me.
85 bpm.
I could feel it without the monitor. A steady, grounding pulse. I offered him a small, nearly invisible nod, a silent promise that I wasn't going a
