დ Aidan დ
The courthouse smelled like old wood and winter coats. Even in late summer, the air held a chill that didn’t belong to the weather. We took our seats at the respondent's table. Marin in the center with her quiet stack of binders, Ezra to my left, me to her right in a suit that had never seen a room this scuffed. Behind us, a soft rustle of bodies and breath. Town people. Our people. Paper between them like fences.
“Two minutes,” Marin murmured without looking up. “When they read the order, do not react,”
“I never react,” I said.
“Correct,” she replied. “Do it again,” the clerk called the case. The judge entered wearing a plain black robe, and he spoke in a plain voice. He didn’t look like a man who wanted to be impressed. He looked like a man who wanted a sandwich and a docke
