When Maddox entered, the air chilled. He said nothing, reacted to nothing, looked at no one. His eyes dropped toward his own shoes, as if searching for a place dark enough to hide beneath. Maya watched him and remembered how he shoved a woman to the brink of falling on her first day in the market—a small gesture, yet full of the arrogance of someone accustomed to viewing people as refuse.
Then came Hale's turn.
The holding room door opened, and he walked in as though still commanding the entire unit: slow steps, steady, his posture so straight it bordered on pride. His gaze swept across the room like he was mapping a battlefield, then locked onto Maya. The look lasted a beat too long—dark and sharp, sending a cold line down her spine as though a blade had grazed past. He sat down, placing his hands on the table like this was merely another internal briefing, not a federal courtroom.
The prosecutor played Ali's recording. "This is a direct order from Lieutenant Marcus Hale," he announced, letting the audio echo throughout the room.
Hale's voice in the recording was so clear that every rustle and breath could be heard distinctly: "Write the report exactly as I give it. Anyone who changes a word deals with the consequences."
As that line filled the space, a thick silence fell over every row. No one moved; no one breathed deeply. Even Hale's faint smirk slipped, though he still reclined slightly as if taunting: "That kid... you trust him more than me?"
The judge looked at Hale with calm but stone-hard eyes. "Do you have anything to say?"
Hale tilted his head just slightly and replied with a chillingly casual tone: "Justice does not exist in this city. I simply played by the rules you people set."
A pen dropped from the jury box, startling the room. Hale stood as security closed in, but before being taken away, he turned, passing close to Maya. Only a few steps remained between them. He leaned just enough for the words to reach her alone—a whisper shaped like a threat: