Chapter 175
Chapter 175
Hawk's trial was scheduled for nine the next morning. Arabella didn't arrive particularly early, but the gallery was already half full.
Reporters from various outlets. Other faces she didn't recognize.
She chose a seat at the end of the last row, set her bag on her knees, and fixed her gaze on the defendant's stand. She waited.
A few minutes later, the side door opened.
Two marshals escorted Hawk in. He wore a detention center vest, noticeably thinner than he'd been months ago.
His cheekbones jutted sharply. His eye sockets were sunken. But those eyes still burned with defiance, sweeping across the gallery as if cataloging every face.
The judge took the bench. The clerk read the case summary. The trial began.
Throughout the proceedings, Hawk stood ramrod straight. He never lowered his head, never averted his gaze. When the prosecutor read the indictment, the charges spanned years of criminal activity—
Kidnapping. Unlawful imprisonment. Aggravated assault.
Every count was backed by evidence, dates and locations documented in meticulous detail.
Hawk listened without a flicker of expression, as though the prosecutor were describing a stranger's life.
When the defense attorney took the floor, he argued for leniency on the grounds that the defendant was a first-time offender who had shown a cooperative attitude.
A faint, mocking curve touched the corner of Hawk's mouth. He didn't interrupt.
When the judge began reading the verdict, the courtroom went so silent you could hear a pin drop.
Arabella's fingers tightened around her bag strap. Her eyes never left the judge.
The judge's voice carried through the microphone, every word measured and solemn.
When the words 'sentenced to death' left the judge's lips, Hawk's mouth twitched—just barely.
He didn't protest. He showed no burning desire to appeal. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on some empty point ahead, as if watching something no one else could see.
The marshals approached to escort him out.
As he turned, his eyes swept the gallery one last time and stopped at the back row.
He met Arabella's calm gaze. His step faltered. His lips moved, as though he wanted to say something.
Arabella held his stare without flinching.
They looked at each other across the full length of the courtroom for several seconds. In the end, Hawk said nothing. The marshals took him by the arms and led him out.
The heavy iron door closed behind him with a dull, resonant thud, sealing him from sight.
Arabella stayed in her seat. She didn't get up right away.
Around her, people murmured in low voices. Reporters filed into the hallway, phones pressed to their ears, calling in the verdict. Marshals confirmed the next hearing's readiness over their radios.
She sat for a while longer. Then she stood, picked up her bag, and walked out.
In the corridor, Sophie leaned against the wall waiting. When Arabella emerged, Sophie straightened up. She didn't ask questions. She just said, "Amara's next. Ten thirty."
Arabella nodded and checked her phone. Ten fifteen.
She didn't go far. She sat down on a bench in the hallway and waited.
---
At ten thirty, Amara was brought in.
She stood at the defendant's stand with her head slightly bowed. Unlike Hawk, she didn't scan the gallery. Her gaze stayed fixed on the small patch of floor in front of her.
When the judge read the verdict, her body went rigid. Both hands gripped the railing of the stand, her knuckles blanching white.
Fifteen years.
When the sentence landed, her body swayed. One hand clamped down on the railing to keep her upright.
The marshals approached to take her away. She turned and followed them two steps, then suddenly stopped. She looked back at the gallery.
Her eyes searched the crowd, row by row, sweeping methodically, looking for someone.
She didn't find the face she was searching for.
Dahlia hadn't come.
When the reality settled in, something indescribable surfaced in her eyes.
Not anger. Not resentment.
A grief so deep it had no bottom.
It was so heavy it seemed to age her years in the space of a breath. Her lips parted slightly, as if to call out a name, but no sound came.
She turned and followed the marshals out of the courtroom, one slow step at a time.
Arabella sat in the gallery and watched the iron door close behind Amara.
Her gaze lingered on the small observation window set into the door. Through the glass, blurred shapes shifted in the corridor beyond, then went still.
She lowered her head, pulled out her phone, and opened her contacts. She scrolled to Dahlia's name. Her finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds.
She didn't make the call. She slipped the phone back into her bag.
When she walked out of the courthouse, the sunlight was almost blinding.
She stood on the steps, squinting as her eyes adjusted. Then she spotted Cornelius's car parked at the curb.
He hadn't gotten out. He sat in the driver's seat, the window rolled halfway down, his profile visible through the opening.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned to look at her. He waited in silence.
Arabella walked down the steps, opened the door, and got in.
She buckled her seatbelt and leaned back. Cornelius didn't ask about the verdict. He started the engine and pulled away from the courthouse.
After they'd driven a while, Arabella spoke. "Dahlia didn't come."
Cornelius was quiet for a few seconds. "Maybe that's better for her."
Arabella said nothing more. She leaned against the seat, watching the streetscape blur past the window, her mind replaying that look on Amara's face when she'd turned to search the gallery.
That bottomless grief.
She closed her eyes and let it go.
---
Efrain's sentencing came at three that afternoon. Seventeen years.
When the verdict was read, he kept his head down. He looked at no one. Every ounce of fight had drained from him—shoulders sagging, spine curved, standing at the defendant's stand like a man already hollowed out.
His wife sat in the front row of the gallery, eyes swollen red, crying in quiet, choked sobs.
When the marshals led Efrain away, he finally lifted his head and looked at his wife. The glance lasted less than two seconds. Then he dropped his gaze and followed the marshals out.
His wife rose to her feet and took two steps forward before stopping. She pressed a hand over her mouth, tears streaming down in silence.
Arabella sat in the last row of the gallery throughout. She didn't say a word.
She watched Efrain disappear through the door, then stood, picked up her bag, and walked out.
Cornelius stood beside her. He said nothing. He just stood there with her.