The courthouse smelled like stone and old paper.
It was meant to inspire order. Permanence. The illusion that truth could be archived and retrieved when needed. Aria felt none of that comfort as she walked through the doors with Luca at her side.
The room was already full.
Journalists lined the back benches, their faces carefully neutral, eyes sharp with hunger. Legal observers whispered in clusters. Cameras were forbidden inside, but everyone knew every word spoken today would echo far beyond these walls.
Marcelo moved ahead of them, calm and precise, speaking quietly with their legal team. His posture was controlled, but Aria could feel the tension beneath it. This was unfamiliar territory even for him.
Here, guns meant nothing.
Money meant little.
Power wore a robe and spoke softly.
Aria sat when directed, smoothing her dress over her knees. Her hand rested instinctively over her stomach. The baby shifted once, steady and grounding, as if sensing the weight of the room.
