Thirty Minutes of Chaos
The room erupted.
Someone gasped. Someone laughed nervously, unable to process what they’d heard. A woman in the gallery whispered, “Oh my—” and clapped a hand over her mouth. The prosecutor half-rose from his seat, face tightening.
Celeste didn’t react at first.
Not even a twitch.
But June saw it. She’d lived in that house long enough to notice what others missed.
A flicker in Celeste’s eyes—quick, almost imperceptible—like a calm lake breaking under sudden wind.
Fear, leaking through.
The judge struck the gavel three times.
“Order! Order in the court!”
His voice rang out, firm and strained. He leaned forward, eyes fixed on the child. “Bailiff—”
The bailiff stepped into the aisle, but Piper slipped past him with shocking speed and ran straight to June.
June tried to rise, but the cuffs and chair made her awkward. She leaned as far as she could, arms still bound. Piper crashed into her like a small storm, clinging tight.
June’s eyes burned instantly.
“Piper, sweetheart—how did you—”
Piper grabbed June’s chained hands, squeezing as if sheer will could warm the cold metal.
“I saw it,” Piper whispered fiercely. “I saw what she did.”
June’s throat closed.
The defense attorney lifted a hand, voice sharp with urgency. “Your Honor—this is Mr. Carver’s daughter.”
The judge’s expression hardened. “Piper Carver?”
Piper nodded vigorously, tears streaming now. “Yes. That’s me.”
A low murmur rolled through the courtroom like distant thunder.
The judge exhaled slowly, then struck the gavel again. “Recess. Thirty minutes.”
Chairs scraped. People stood. The prosecutor leaned toward the clerk’s desk, speaking fast. The bailiff hovered, uncertain whether to escort Piper out or shield her.
And Celeste Vaughn?
She stayed seated.
Still composed.
Still grieving.
But her hands were no longer folded.
They were clenched in her skirt, knuckles white, as if the fabric was the only thing holding her together.
