The Courtroom
The space was smaller than I'd imagined. Pale wood paneling, fluorescent lights, uncomfortable benches. Nothing like the dramatic courtrooms on TV.
The jury box was empty—they'd be brought in after we were seated. Twelve ordinary people who'd soon hold extraordinary power over our lives.
Judge Patricia Reeves presided—a woman in her sixties with steel-gray hair and sharper eyes. She looked like someone who'd seen everything and was impressed by nothing.
"All rise," the bailiff announced.
We stood as Judge Reeves entered and took her seat.
"Be seated. We are here for the case of The State versus Mia Hartley, case number 2947. Is the prosecution ready?"
A woman stood from the prosecutor's table—District Attorney Rebecca Morrison. Mid-forties, perfectly tailored suit, expression carved from ice.
"Ready, Your Honor."
"Defense?"
Marcus stood. "Ready, Your Honor."
"Then let's bring in the jury."
