The phantom weight of those two white pills — the heaviness I’d carried in my blood for days and, in memory, for months after — had finally lifted.

My head was clear.

It had been clear since the night I chose to keep it that way.

At the defense table sat the three of them.

Chapter 15 — Judge Dorsey

Stripped of the bespoke suits and the salon polish and the easy superiority they’d worn like skin, Flynn and Aidan and Fiona wore identical orange jumpsuits, and their shackles chinked against the floor every time one of them shifted.

Flynn looked like a poorly made copy of the man I’d married — thinner, grayer, caved in on himself by six months in a detention cell.