Page 152 of Requiem
INTERNATIONAL TRAFFICKING LINKS EXPOSED.
DISSONANCE’S JUDE GRAVES UNDER INVESTIGATION.
RUSSIAN ORGANIZED CRIME CONNECTIONS.
One image appears briefly on-screen, then changes again too quickly for me to fully process it. But I already know which image they use most.
The white mask, splattered with blood.
My stomach twists, and Emma must notice the change in me immediately. Her hand settles gently against my arm beneath the sleeve of my coat, grounding me before I spiral too far into my own head again.
Across the room, Levi stands near the windows speaking quietly with another attorney while flipping through legal documents. Watching him work is like watching someone slowly dismantle a bomb with the hands of a fucking neurosurgeon. He’s incredible.
Heather walks in a few minutes later, carrying coffees alongside Micah, who still moves carefully.
“You look homicidal again,” Micah tells me casually as he lowers into the chair beside mine.
“I’m in a courthouse.”
“Fair.”
Heather hands Emma a drink before sitting carefully beside him. “You haven’t eaten.”
“I had breakfast.”
“You had three bites of toast.”
“It was enough.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
Emma rolls her eyes, and I can’t help but smirk at how adorable it looks.
Then Levi returns, the atmosphere shifting when he looks down at me. “They are attempting to challenge the coercion framework,” he says.
Micah leans back with a muttered curse beneath his breath.
Levi continues calmly. “Which means the prosecution’s current strategy relies heavily on perception management.”
I already know what that means. They want me to look dangerous, as someone whowillinglykilled those men.
Levi’s eyes settle on me directly. “The public version of you is currently split between victim and accomplice.”
Jesus. That’s the real horror of all this, isn’t it? Not what Nolan and Alexei turned me into. But that the motherfucker convinced the world Ichoseto become it.
“Today,” he says evenly, “we begin dismantling the version of you they were taught to believe. Are you ready?”
I swallow hard, squeezing Emma’s hand. “Yes.”
***
The hotel room is too quiet after the courthouse. It’s not exactly the peaceful type of quiet. We’ve been questioned and analyzed all day by fucking assholes who have no idea what real suffering is.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlook Manhattan, glowing gold and white beneath the winter sky, headlights flashing through the streets far below, while snow drifts lazily between buildings. Somewhere in the distance, sirens echo faintly through the city. Aside from the insane hustle and bustle here…I do love it.
Emma sits near the edge of the bed, one of the hotel blankets loosely wrapped around her shoulders, her phone glowing in her hands as the television plays quietly in the background.
I’m standing near the small table by the balcony doors, scrolling through messages I still haven’t figured out how to answer.
