Judge Mallory stood and vanished through the door behind her bench.

The courtroom immediately began to fill with the quiet rustle of paper.

Arthur Vance closed his briefcase, the brass latches clicking shut in unison.

He gave me a single, brief nod before he turned toward the side exit.

I turned toward the main doors.

Callum was still standing by his table, his fingers pressed into the polished oak.

His face had gone the color of chalk.

I walked past him, my flat shoes silent on the carpet.

“Avery,” he whispered as I passed.

I did not stop.

I pushed open the heavy leather doors and stepped into the wide, marble-floored hallway.

The air out here was cold, smelling of wet umbrellas and floor wax.

A few reporters were waiting near the elevators, but they were kept back by two court officers.

I walked to the end of the hall, toward the bank of brass elevators.

Behind me, the courtroom doors swung open again.

Callum emerged, his stride long and angry.

He was holding his phone to his ear now.

“Get me Whitaker,” he said into the receiver.