“I do.”
Izzy rose carefully, every motion deliberate, her sling a stark reminder of what she carried. The bandage at her temple caught a glint of light as she faced the bench. Her voice—though thin—was precise. “Your Honor, he pushed me. I remember the wind in my ears, the world flipping, the rocks rushing up. I remember thinking I would never see my family again. I live with that moment every night.”
Her hand trembled harder, then steadied against the table. “But I survived. And I won’t let him take one more piece of me. I want the Court to remember that I didn’t fall.He pushed me.That matters.”
Evan’s eyes narrowed; his gaze lifted toward her.
Judge Harlan’s tone cut through the hush. “Mr. Cole, you will not look at the victim. Keep your eyes front.”
Evan’s stare dropped, but the chill lingered.
“The Court finds the offense aggravated by the defendant’s conduct and the resulting permanent injury to the victim.
For assault inflicting serious bodily injury, the Court imposes a term of ten years in the custody of the North Carolina Department of Adult Correction. For accessory after the fact, a concurrent term of three years. You will serve a minimum of eight years before eligibility for parole. You are remanded immediately.”
The gavel cracked like thunder.
Too soft to be a laugh, too hard to be a breath—Evan looked at Izzy again. Not apology. Not confusion. Hatred, sharp as glass.
A deputy’s hand closed on his elbow, steering him toward the side door. The chains jolted once, twice, then the door sealed him from view.
The shackles echoed long after he was gone. The sound faded, but no one moved.
At last, the hum of the lights replaced it, along with the soft scrape of chairs. Izzy exhaled, tears streaking her cheeks.
Rhea squeezed her hand. “That’s justice,” she murmured. “Not perfect—but justice.”
Behind them, Mary Lou reached for Caitlin’s hand. “You both did real good,” she said softly.
Caitlin nodded, unable to speak, eyes shining. Rosie’s tail brushed her boot—a reminder that the fight, for now, was done.
Chapter 56
Promise
Izzy Moreno
That afternoon, the late-November air was cool, the mountains sharp against a pale sky.
Izzy stood with Caitlin, Burke, and Scout, her bag slung awkwardly over her good shoulder.
“I’m going back to Denver,” she said, voice soft but sure. “I need—normal. My job. My condo. My life back.” She looked at Caitlin, eyes shining. “But don’t think for a second I won’t be back to visit. You’re stuck with me.”
Caitlin hugged her carefully, whispering, “Thank you for believing me. For fighting.”
Her voice broke. “I’m so, so sorry you got hurt trying to protect me.”
Izzy laughed through her tears. “We’ll always fight, you and me.”
Scout’s voice came out rough. “You call if you need anything. Doesn’t matter the time.”
“I know.” Izzy’s gaze lingered on him a beat longer than necessary before she looked away, blinking.
A weathered bench sat on the sheltered side of the courthouse, paint worn smooth by years of waiting. Izzy lowered herself onto it, the sling tugging at her shoulder. The square was all cold sun and long shadows.
“I brought something,” she said, digging in her tote with her good hand. She pulled out a small kraft-paper envelope, the flap tied with red string, and held it toward Caitlin. “For your wall. For your new life.”
Caitlin opened it. Inside lay a 4×6 photo—two women at the overlook months before, hair wild with wind, the sky impossibly blue. Along the bottom, in Izzy’s tidy block letters:We don’t fall. We climb.
