The apartment was silent except for the soft hum of the city outside. Neon light spilled through the windows, painting everything in pale blues and golds, like a fragile memory suspended between night and day.

Justina sat on the edge of the sofa, knees drawn to her chest, staring at the floor. Her hands trembled slightly as she held the photograph of her mother, edges curling from time and handling. It had been weeks since the trial started, yet each day seemed to chip away at her resolve, and ...