The rest of the trial played out exactly as expected.
A few more statements. A few more witnesses. Some additional pieces of evidence.
But none of it changed the outcome.
Mr. Dome was guilty.
It wasn't even up for debate.
The jury was led into a separate deliberation room, and within minutes, the conclusion was unanimous.
No one spoke in his defense.
No one hesitated.
It was clean. Efficient. Expected.
But as I sat there, my fingers tapping against the wooden surface of the table, I couldn't shake the lingering unease pressing against my skull.
The Masked Syndicate is watching.
This is only the beginning.
What the hell did that mean?
Was this a warning? A signal? A trap?
I exhaled slowly, rubbing my temple.
This was bigger than I thought.
And I needed to figure out why.
After the trial, I left the courtroom, walking toward the exit with purposeful strides.
I needed to get home. Needed to process everything.
But fate had other plans.
