"Yes."
She studies me for a long moment. Then nods and turns back to the papers.
"Fine. Let's go over the cross-examination strategy again. The defense is going to focus on three areas: your timeline, your mental state, and your motivation for coming forward."
"Daniels is testifying before you—he'll cover the safe house attack." Rodriguez glances at her notes. "You haven't seen him since that night, correct?"
"No."
"Keep it that way until after the verdict. No contact, no acknowledgment in the courtroom. We can't give the defense any ammunition."
She launches back into the prep. Carver adds details. I nod in the right places, answer the questions they throw at me, play the role of the cooperative witness.
But I keep drifting.
"You were an assignment, Eden. I was supposed to keep you alive until the trial. That's it."
"That's just gratitude. It's not love."
"Eden." Carver's voice again. Patient but strained.
"I'm here."
"You need to BE here."
"I said I'm here."
Rodriguez opens her mouth—and Maya stands.
"That's enough for tonight."
Rodriguez pauses. Something in Maya's posture, maybe. The quiet certainty of it.
"She's had an incredibly long day," Maya says. "She left Shadow Ridge this morning, she's been in transit for hours, and we've been pushing for the last two. We're not going to accomplish anything productive by overwhelming her."
"We have limited time—"
"And she'll be sharper after she's eaten and rested. Let's take a break. We can pick back up in an hour, or call it for the night and do a final run-through in the morning."
Rodriguez looks ready to protest. Carver doesn't let her.
"Dr. Johnson's right. We're done for tonight." He holds up a hand when Rodriguez opens her mouth. "This isn't anegotiation. She's been running on fumes for two months. Push her any harder and she'll crack on the stand tomorrow. Is that what you want?"
Rodriguez's mouth thins. But she nods once and starts gathering her things.
Carver catches my eye. Gives me a small nod—I've got you.
They file out. Rodriguez goes first. Carver pauses at the door.
"You've survived worse than a courtroom," he says quietly. "Remember that."
Then they're gone. The door clicks shut. I hear the murmur of guards in the hallway, and then—
Silence.
I make it thirty seconds.
The sob breaks through—ugly, gasping, the sound I've been holding back since the SUV pulled away from the cottage. I press my hands over my mouth, but it doesn't help. The tears are coming and I can't stop them.
