The sound was loud enough to break the trance of the room. Heads turned. The bailiff reached for his belt, expecting a disturbance.
Instead, they saw a child.
“Hey!” the bailiff barked. “You can’t be in here, kid. This is a closed session.”
People murmured. The jury exchanged confused glances. But the girl didn’t stop. She didn’t look at the bailiff. She didn’t look at the crowd. She walked straight down the center aisle, her eyes locked on the elevated bench where Judge Callaghan sat.
“Order!” Callaghan’s voice boomed, deep and resonant. “Bailiff, remove the child.”
The girl stopped at the wooden gate that separated the gallery from the court floor. She gripped the railing with small hands.
“My name is Hope Moore,” she announced. Her voice trembled, high and thin, but it carried a strange, piercing clarity that cut through the noise of the storm outside.
Darius’s head snapped up. “Hope?” he whispered, panic flooding his chest. “Hope, what are you doing? Go back to your aunt!”
She ignored her father, her gaze fixed on the judge.
“Let my dad go,” she said, her chin lifting defiantly. “And I’ll release you.”
“Release me?” Judge Callaghan repeated, his eyebrows narrowing. He wasn’t amused. He felt mocked. “Young lady, this is a court of law, not a playground. You are interrupting a felony trial.”
“I know,” Hope said. “You think my dad is a bad man because of the papers. The man in the suit—” she pointed at the prosecutor “—said the papers tell the truth.”
She unzipped her backpack. The sound of the zipper was absurdly loud in the quiet room. She pulled out a battered, red plastic folder.
“But I have papers too.”
Prosecutor Reynolds chuckled, shaking his head. “Your Honor, this is touching, really, but we need to clear the court. The child is clearly confused.”
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