Lindholm stood. "Your Honor, is this a cross-examination or a lecture?"
Tolbert did not stop Elijah. He continued to stare at him.
"This is not about revenge," Elijah said. "It is about accountability."
He turned toward the gallery. "How many people in this room know someone who has been imprisoned for something he did not do?"
Hands rose quietly, one after another. Tolbert's jaw tightened.
Elijah faced him again. "You asked me earlier whether I knew what I was doing. I do. I know exactly what I am doing. I am standing up for my brother because no one else would, not even you."
The words hung in the room. They were not loud, but they were heavy.
Tolbert adjusted his robe, looked down, and finally said, "The court will take a short recess. I will issue a ruling within the hour."
He brought down the gavel, rose, and walked through the side door. Before disappearing, he cast one final glance at Elijah. This time, there was no smirk and no sarcasm, only the expression of a man who had been cracked open.
Elijah sat slowly. He said nothing.
Isaiah leaned forward behind him. "Are you all right?"
Elijah kept his gaze ahead. "I think I finally made him listen."
From the gallery, someone murmured, "I do not know who raised that boy, but they did something right."
Outside, clouds rolled in and the light dimmed through the old courthouse windows, casting soft shadows across the room. Yet Elijah seemed brighter than ever. Still, the ruling had not been delivered, and one sentence from the judge could tear everything down.