“That nigga tried to kill her.”
The courtroom froze.
Ms. Franklin shot to her feet. “Objection!”
“I saw him try to run her over,” Tink continued before anybody could stop him. “And she started shooting at his car after—”
“Martavious!” I shouted.
The courtroom erupted instantly.
“Order!” the judge barked, slamming his gavel repeatedly.
Reporters started talking over one another as people twisted in their seats to hear better. Somebody near the back loudly asked, “Rich?” while another voice immediately shushed them.
Ms. Franklin was already speaking, her voice sharp as she argued with the prosecutor at the bench, but I couldn’t focus long enough to understand what either of them was saying.
All I could see was Tink.
His eyes widened the second he realized what he’d done.
“I ain’t mean—” he started quickly, looking toward me. “I was just saying he tried to hurt her first—”
“Stop talking,” Ms. Franklin snapped without even looking at him.
Tink immediately went quiet.
The prosecutor looked stunned for half a second before recovering fast enough to hide it. He leaned toward the judge and started speaking in a low voice while reporters continued scribbling furiously throughout the gallery.
I stared down at the table.
Everything was ruined now.
Not just the trial.
Everything.
The lies. The delusions. The grief. The murders. Every version of reality I’d clung to since waking up from that coma had finally cracked open in front of an entire courtroom full of strangers.
And somehow, through all of it, Tink still tried to protect me.
“Enough,” the judge said finally, sounding exhausted. “We are done for today.”
The gavel slammed again.
“Court is adjourned until tomorrow morning.”
The room immediately burst back into conversation.
Bailiffs moved toward me while people in the gallery stood from their seats. Reporters rushed toward the doors, talking on their phones, probably trying to be the first ones to break the story that Konika Holiday had just been tied to another murder in open court.
The chains rattled loudly when I stood.
This time, I didn’t even try to hold my head high.
I felt Ms. Franklin touch my arm briefly before the bailiffs pulled me away from the table.
“We’ll deal with it tomorrow,” she said quietly.
