“It’s documented,” I reply. “The dosage aligns with non-lethal intent. The complication arose because of an underlying condition he never disclosed. A heart abnormality. One exacerbated by alcohol.”
I let that settle.
“There are real cases,” I continue, addressing the room now, not Angus. “Women who administered substances meant to calm, to control, to survive another night—only for a variable they didn’t know existed to turn it fatal. Jurors believed them. Courts acquitted them. Not because they were saints, but because the law recognized the absence of intent.”
The professor’s pen stills.
Angus shifts, recalibrating. “You’re saying youmeantto drug your husband.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t see how that sounds?”
“I see how it sounds,” I say. “I also see how it holds up under scrutiny.”
A few students nod, understanding flickering across their faces. Others frown, brows knitting as they turn the idea over in their minds.
The laughter dies out.
What replaces it is better.
Thought. Recalibration. The subtle shift of perspectives being rearranged in real time. Which is exactly where I want them.
The back door to the auditorium opens.
Light floods in, harsh and sudden, slicing across the tiered seating. Heads turn. The moment fractures.
I lose my place mid-thought.
A man stands there, framed in the doorway, hands in his pockets. His coat is dark against the brightness behind him. His eyes scan the room before they land on me. My mouth goes dry.
Justin.
He doesn’t interrupt or move forward. He just observes, gaze intent, sharp, almost curious. Like this mock trial is anything but hypothetical.
I feel exposed in a way I didn’t a second ago.
“Miss Hale?” the professor snaps. “Answer the question.”
I blink. Refocus. Push him out of my head.
“Yes,” I say firmly. “I see how it sounds. That still doesn’t make it murder.”
Professor Hale calls a recess. The room erupts. Chairs scrape. Voices overlap. Angus is on me immediately, grinning again, hand hovering too close to my elbow.
“That was impressive,” he says. “We should grab a coffee and?—”
“No.”
He laughs, clearly convinced I’m joking, and starts talking again. I don’t hear a single word—because the air around me suddenly feels tight, heavy, almost impossible to breathe through.
Justin is suddenly there.
Close enough that Angus notices when the air shifts.
“She said no,” Justin tells him.
Angus bristles. “The fuck, man… this is between?—”
