Judge Harlan cleared his throat.
Both straightened immediately.
The gallery leaned forward.
They were waiting for sparks.
Reid pivoted, adjusted, closed his argument.
Judge Harlan ruled.
Measured. Predictable.
Court adjourned.
The gallery began buzzing before the gavel fully settled.
As Eleanor gathered her files, Reid leaned slightly closer.
“Game face looks good on you, Ellie.”
He should’ve kept his mouth shut. Let her pretend last night belonged to a separate universe.
Her hand paused mid-stack.
She did not look at him.
“Focus on your own arguments, Counselor.”
But the faintest color touched her cheek.
“Counselors,” Judge Harlan said dryly. “Save the sidebar commentary for chambers.”
A ripple of restrained laughter.
Reid straightened, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
Eleanor swept past him toward the aisle, the hem of her pencil skirt brushing against his knee as she went. It was accidental—the narrow space between the tables made it inevitable—but for a heartbeat, the courtroom vanished. The faint scent of her perfume—something crisp with vanilla—closed in around him.
It was the same scent that had been lingering on his skin since midnight.
He wasn’t seeing a defense attorney; he was seeing the woman who had hauled him down by his shirt collar twelve hours ago.
She didn’t look back, but as she tightened her grip on the files in her arms, he caught the slight tremor in her hand.
Enough for him to know she was replaying the brick wall, too.
And this time—she didn’t pretend she didn’t like it.
Outside the Courthouse
Reid stepped out into sunlight and noise.
The square was louder than it had been before court.
Two local stations had set up tripods near the fountain. Lila’s crew hovered closer to the base of the steps. A cluster of college kids in Vanished tees waited like spectators outside a stadium, one of them holding up a cardboard sign:
