He shouldn’t have noticed that.
He did.
She moved with that same contained precision she used in argument—controlled.
No one in the room would have guessed she hadn’t slept.
Her eyes had flicked toward him once when she came in.
Only once.
Now she kept them on her file, opening it as if nothing had happened the night before.
As if she hadn’t been against brick.
He respected the line she’d drawn between court and brick walls. Between counsel table and his shirt in her fists.
He hated being on the wrong side of it.
Professional. Untouchable. Game face.
He respected it.
Didn’t mean he had to like it.
“Counselors,” Judge Harlan said, peering over his glasses. “I expect today’s arguments to concern the facts before this court. Not whatever is trending on social media.”
A few suppressed laughs in the gallery.
Judge Harlan didn’t look amused.
Reid rose.
“Ready for the State, Your Honor.”
Eleanor stood a half-beat later.
“Ready for the defense.”
Her voice was steady. Cool. Almost serene.
He began.
Laid out the State’s position cleanly. Efficiently.
She countered—sharp. Concise. A little sharper than usual.
He pressed a witness harder than he might have last week.
She objected faster.
They moved like they always did—a certain rhythm.
At one point, he leaned slightly toward her at counsel table while a document was passed forward.
“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re reaching.”
“Am I?” she said without looking at him.
