"You're asking if trauma affected my memory. The answer is yes. It did." I pause. Let the jury shift uncomfortably. "Trauma made my memory sharper. Because when you're trying to survive, you remember everything. Every detail. Every sound. Every word. You don't get the luxury of forgetting."
The attorney's mouth tightens.
"That's not—"
"I remember what that man told me in the prison. I remember the names, the dates, the way he smiled when he described what he'd done. And I remember what Venetti's men looked like when they came to kill me." I hold his gaze. "My memory is fine. It's the one thing I have left that no one gets to take from me."
Silence.
Somewhere in the gallery, someone exhales.
The defense attorney looks at his notes. Shuffles them. Regroups.
He changes angle. "You stand to benefit financially from this case, don't you, Ms. Cross? Book deals? Media appearances?"
I meet his eyes.
"I stand to benefit from not being murdered. That's been my primary concern."
Someone in the gallery coughs. Almost a laugh.
"No further questions."
I step down. My legs are shaking. I keep walking.
Carver catches my eye from the gallery and nods.
Rodriguez approaches. "That was exactly what we needed. Jury's going to deliberate now. Could be hours."
"I'm done, right? Legally?"
She blinks. "You don't want to stay for the verdict?"
"I did my part." I'm already looking toward the door. "I need to go."
Rodriguez studies me for a moment. "We'll call you when we have a verdict."
I nod. Walk out of the courtroom without looking back.
Ash is in the hallway, leaning against the wall. He straightens when he sees me.
"That was fast."
"I'm done. I want to go home."
He doesn't ask questions. Just nods. "I'll get Maya."
The drive takes forty minutes. Maya sits in the back with me. Ash drives, one hand on the wheel, the other on his phone. Texting. The whole drive.
I watch his thumbs move across the screen and wonder what he's saying. She testified. She's out. Heading to her place now.
I wonder if Diesel is on the other end. If he's reading every update. If he cares.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the window.
When we pull up to my building, it looks the same. Of course it does. Two months. Eight weeks at the safe house, jumping at every sound. Eight days at the cottage, learning what it felt like to be safe. And now I'm back where I started.
Maya helps me open windows while Ash checks the locks. The place smells stale—dust and old air.
