Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Eden
"—and when they ask about the timeline, you need to be specific. Dates. Times. Don't estimate if you can help it. The defense will use any vagueness to—"
I blink. Carver is still talking. I have no idea how long I've been gone.
"There is no we."
His voice in my head. The flatness of it. The way he watched every word land while he dismantled everything we'd built.
"—suggest that your memory is unreliable. They're going to push on the gaps, the inconsistencies. You need to be—"
"What we had here was real. But it can't survive outside these walls."
The look on his face when he said it. He was convincing himself as much as me.
"Eden."
Carver is looking at me. So is Rodriguez—already impatient, already judging. Maya sits in the corner, the only person in this room who isn't asking me to perform.
The hotel room is beige. Everything is beige—the walls, the carpet, the bedspread I'm sitting on with my hands folded in my lap.
The overhead lights are too bright, institutional fluorescent that makes everyone look sick.
Someone's coffee has gone cold on the nightstand.
Papers spread across every surface—timelines, witness statements, photographs I can't look at without my stomach turning.
"Sorry. I'm listening."
"Are you?" Rodriguez's voice is clipped. She uncrosses her legs, leans forward. "Because you've been somewhere else for the last ten minutes, and I need to know if that's going to be a problem tomorrow."
"It won't be a problem."
"This isn't a rehearsal." She stands, starts pacing.
The room feels smaller with her moving through it.
"Tomorrow is the culmination of a year-long investigation.
Anthony Venetti has been running drugs and murdering witnesses in this city for ten years.
We finally have him, and you're the linchpin.
Your testimony puts him at three murders he thought he'd gotten away with. "
"I know."
"He has the best lawyers money can buy. They're going to come at you hard—your credibility, your mental state, why you've been quote-unquote 'in hiding' for two months.
They're going to suggest you're unstable.
That you're making things up for your next book.
That you were traumatized into false memories. "
"I know all of this."
"Then act like it." Her voice sharpens. "I've seen defense teams tear apart stronger witnesses than you think you are. If you're not sharp tomorrow, Venetti walks. And I don't lose cases."
I want to snap at her. Want to tell her I've spent two months running for my life, I nearly died twice, I just had my choices stripped away by someone who claimed it was for my own good. I want to ask her how present she'd be under those circumstances.
I don't say any of that. The words stay locked behind my teeth.
"I'll be ready."
"You need to be more than ready. You need to be bulletproof." She pulls a photograph from the stack on the bed and slides it toward me. "This is what we're fighting for. This is who you're putting away."
I don't look at the photo. I've seen it before. Venetti's face—cold eyes, expensive suit, that smile.
"I know who he is."
"Do you? Because right now, you're acting like this is an inconvenience instead of the most important thing you'll ever do."
"Rodriguez." Carver's voice drops. "Ease up."
"We don't have time to ease up. The trial starts in fourteen hours. If she's not ready—"
"She'll be ready."
"Will she?" Rodriguez turns to me. "Will you?"
I meet her eyes. Hold them.
"Yes."
She studies me for a long moment. Then nods and turns back to the papers.
"Fine. Let's go over the cross-examination strategy again. The defense is going to focus on three areas: your timeline, your mental state, and your motivation for coming forward."
"Daniels is testifying before you—he'll cover the safe house attack." Rodriguez glances at her notes. "You haven't seen him since that night, correct?"
"No."
"Keep it that way until after the verdict. No contact, no acknowledgment in the courtroom. We can't give the defense any ammunition."
She launches back into the prep. Carver adds details. I nod in the right places, answer the questions they throw at me, play the role of the cooperative witness.
But I keep drifting.
"You were an assignment, Eden. I was supposed to keep you alive until the trial. That's it."
"That's just gratitude. It's not love."
"Eden." Carver's voice again. Patient but strained.
"I'm here."
"You need to BE here."
"I said I'm here."
Rodriguez opens her mouth—and Maya stands.
"That's enough for tonight."
Rodriguez pauses. Something in Maya's posture, maybe. The quiet certainty of it.
"She's had an incredibly long day," Maya says. "She left Shadow Ridge this morning, she's been in transit for hours, and we've been pushing for the last two. We're not going to accomplish anything productive by overwhelming her."
"We have limited time—"
"And she'll be sharper after she's eaten and rested. Let's take a break. We can pick back up in an hour, or call it for the night and do a final run-through in the morning."
Rodriguez looks ready to protest. Carver doesn't let her.
"Dr. Johnson's right. We're done for tonight." He holds up a hand when Rodriguez opens her mouth. "This isn't a negotiation. She's been running on fumes for two months. Push her any harder and she'll crack on the stand tomorrow. Is that what you want?"
Rodriguez's mouth thins. But she nods once and starts gathering her things.
Carver catches my eye. Gives me a small nod—I've got you.
They file out. Rodriguez goes first. Carver pauses at the door.
"You've survived worse than a courtroom," he says quietly. "Remember that."
Then they're gone. The door clicks shut. I hear the murmur of guards in the hallway, and then—
Silence.
I make it thirty seconds.
The sob breaks through—ugly, gasping, the sound I've been holding back since the SUV pulled away from the cottage. I press my hands over my mouth, but it doesn't help. The tears are coming and I can't stop them.
Maya doesn't say anything. She crosses the room, sits down on the bed next to me, and waits.
"I'm fine," I manage between gasps. "I'm—I'll be fine."
"You don't have to be fine right now."
"I have to testify tomorrow. I have to be—"
"You have to be honest tomorrow. That's all." Her hand finds my back. "Right now, you can fall apart. That's allowed."
So I do.
Maya doesn't try to stop me. Doesn't offer platitudes. She sits with me while I shake apart.
When the worst of it passes, I'm hollow. I wipe my face with the back of my hand and stare at the beige wall.
"He told me who he was." My voice comes out raw. "Every wall he put up, every time he pulled back—that was him telling me. And I decided I knew better."
Maya is quiet for a moment.
"That's not what I saw."
"Then you weren't paying attention. I walked in with my eyes open. That's the worst part. I can't even pretend I didn't know."
"I saw the way he looked at you." Maya's voice is gentle. "When we came to pick you up. The way he stood between you and Rodriguez. The way he fought for Ash to come with you—that wasn't a man keeping his distance."
"And then he let me go." I meet her eyes. "Whatever he felt, it wasn't enough."
"Orcs like him don't know how to love without waiting for the punishment. Pushing you away is the only protection they understand." Maya pauses. "I've been where you're standing. Understanding why they do it doesn't make watching them do it any easier."
"I don't want to be protected from him."
"I know. But he doesn't know how to hear that yet."
I close my eyes. The tears are gone now. I'm too empty for more.
"I keep looking for him," I whisper. "Every time a door opens. Every time I hear footsteps. I hate myself for it."
"That's not something to hate yourself for."
"He made his choice. He watched me leave. He didn't—" My voice cracks. "He didn't even try to stop me."
Maya is quiet. She doesn't have an answer for that.
"You should eat something," she says finally. "And try to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be hard."
"I know."
"But you'll get through it."
I'm not sure that's true anymore. The safe house was terrifying, but at least I knew what I was fighting. This—I don't know how to survive this.
But I nod. Because tomorrow, I have to testify. Tomorrow, I have to look Venetti in the eye and tell a room full of strangers what he did. Alone.
***
I look for him. I hate myself for it, but I do.
My eyes scan the gallery for olive skin and tusks and a set of shoulders that would stand out in any crowd.
He's not there.
Of course he's not there.
But Daniels is. Third row, left side. He looks thinner than I remember—paler—but he's upright. Alive. The last time I saw him, he was bleeding out on the floor telling me to run.
I make myself not smile. Not nod. Not give the defense anything.
He doesn't look at me either. He knows the rules too.
The courtroom is packed—reporters, observers, people who came to watch a crime boss fall. I barely slept. Maya's makeup covers the dark circles, but that's all it covers.
I told myself I wouldn't look. Told myself it didn't matter. But my stupid heart went searching anyway, and now I have to swallow the disappointment whole.
Fine. I don't need him here.
Carver appears at my elbow. "You ready?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"You've got two jobs up there." He keeps his voice low. "Prove those notes are yours and that you wrote them during the interview. Then establish you were attacked after discovery was released. That's it. Everything else is extra."
I nod.
"You've got this, Eden."
I straighten my spine. Smooth my jacket. Look at Venetti—his cold eyes, his expensive lawyers, his absolute certainty that he's untouchable.
Watch me touch you.
"The prosecution calls Eden Cross to the stand."
I walk forward. Alone.
The oath. The Bible under my palm. The chair that faces a room full of strangers.