For a moment, she was seventeen again.
Sneakers on polished courtroom floors.
People laughing.
Judge Brenner looking down at her.
Daniel Hensley calling the case open-and-shut.
She turned the page.
Tyrell’s photograph stared back at her.
Young.
Angry.
Terrified beneath the anger.
Harper closed the file.
“Where is he?”
“Interview room three.”
She stood.
Her assistant followed.
“Want me to call Morris?”
Harper smiled.
“Always.”
Charles Morris had retired two years earlier.
Retirement, in his case, meant showing up three days a week instead of six.
Harper walked toward the interview room.
Before opening the door, she stopped.
She thought of Malik Dawson.
Mistakes don’t fill out forms.
She thought of her mother standing outside their broken window.
Judge Cross telling her she was not invulnerable.
Brenner admitting that experience could become laziness.
Pike sitting silently at the defense table.
Every case had changed her.
Every mistake had too.
Harper opened the door.
Tyrell Bennett sat with both arms crossed.
His mother sat beside him.
Neither looked impressed.
Tyrell glanced at Harper.
“You’re that girl from the internet.”
Harper sat across from him.
“That video is eight years old.”
“My mom sent it to me.”
His mother gave him a look.
Tyrell shrugged.
Harper opened her notebook.
“What happened?”
Tyrell leaned back.
“Police said I robbed a store.”
“I know what they said.”
“You already believe them?”
“No.”
“You believe me?”
“No.”
Tyrell frowned.
His mother blinked.
Harper leaned forward.
“I believe records.”
Tyrell stared at her.
“I believe timestamps. Cameras. Receipts. Witnesses. Phone data. Documents. I believe facts after somebody proves them.”
The boy’s posture changed slightly.