“That’s not true.”
“It has to be.”
Silence crashed between them. Then something in his face broke—not loudly, but with a small, jagged fracture.
He stepped back. The sudden absence of his heat felt like a physical blow.
He smoothed his tie with hands that were suddenly, terrifyingly steady. When he looked at her again, the man from the porch was gone.
“Court resumes in twelve minutes,” he said.
His voice was flat. Professional. Empty.
Her hand lifted instinctively, fingers reaching for the edge of his jacket.
He never saw it.
Or maybe he did.
He didn’t turn around.
She let her hand fall.
“See you inside,” she managed.
Reid turned toward the courthouse door. He paused with his hand on the handle.
“Ele—” The name died in his throat. He swallowed once.
“Counsel.”
The door swung shut behind him with a hollow metallic clang.
Then the alley went silent.
Eleanor stayed where she was, gripping the concrete until her hands hurt.
A few moments later, Burke reappeared.
Burke had heard enough from the mouth of the alley to know how it ended.
He looked at Reid’s closed door, then at Eleanor standing rigid beside the wall.
For one sharp second, he thought of Caitlin. Of her looking at him with that same empty, determined face and telling him they were done.
It hit him like a punch.
He looked at the smudge of red lipstick at the corner of Eleanor’s mouth and the way her hand was clenched white around the handle of her briefcase.
“You ready?” he asked quietly.
Eleanor nodded, even though she wasn’t.
Burke said nothing else. He just held the door.
Inside, the courthouse bell rang—a sharp, singular toll that sounded less like a call to order and more like a bell at a funeral.
The trial of David Mercer was back in session.
