CHAPTER 49 —

They moved through the courthouse like people carrying small religions: boxes sealed with evidence tape, thumbprints on warrant forms, a Faraday bag that smelled faintly of plastic and promises. The judge had wanted an update within the hour; now the hour was behind them and the room mattered in a way it hadn't when the battle was only online and in back rooms. This was daylight. This was people. This was paper.

Harrow strode ahead with the Pelican case in his hands, every ...