Chapter 37
The white walls of my cell seemed to close in with each passing hour.
Or was it minutes? Days? I had no way to tell anymore.
There were no windows, no clock, nothing to mark the passage of time except the occasional arrival of bland food on a plastic tray.
Clean, sterile, and utterly terrifying in its emptiness.
I sat on the narrow bed, knees pulled to my chest, trying to breathe through another wave of panic.
The stark white surroundings were nothing like the filthy, freezing cell where Damien had kept me, but somehow that made it worse.
The clinical nature of this prison felt more permanent, more official, as if the world had decided I deserved to be here.
"Please," I whispered to no one, my voice cracking from screaming.
"Please let me out." My pleas echoed off the empty walls, just as they had every time before.
I pressed my forehead against my knees, fighting back tears.
Crying wouldn't help. Nothing would help.
I'd begged to see Logan, Ryder, Cole, anyone familiar who might explain what was happening, who might reassure me that I wouldn't be trapped forever.
I'd even asked for my grandparents, though I didn’t want them brought into this mess.
But the stone-faced enforcers who brought my meals only repeated the same cold phrase: "Under Trivium law, the accused is not permitted contact until the hearing."
The hearing. For fraud I didn't commit, for falsifying documents I'd never seen, for violating a "Legacy Code" I didn't even understand. None of it made sense, and the confusion only amplified my terror.
A sob escaped me despite my best efforts.
The sterility of this place, the isolation, the handcuffs they'd used when dragging me from Covenant House, it all triggered flashes of my captivity with Damien.
I could feel phantom pains from where the restraints had cut into my wrists during those endless weeks, could hear the echo of his voice taunting me in the darkness.
You're nothing. No one's coming for you. No one cares.
I pressed my hands over my ears, tears streaming down my face, as if that could block out the memories. "Stop," I whispered. "Please stop."
The sound of the lock disengaging jolted me to a sudden upright position. I scrambled back against the wall, heart hammering against my ribs as the door swung open. Two Trivium enforcers stood in the doorway, their expressions impassive behind dark glasses.
"Stand up," the taller one ordered. I complied on shaky legs, trying to swallow my terror. "W-what’s happening, is it, is it time for the hearing?" Neither answered. The shorter one stepped forward with handcuffs, and I couldn't stop myself from flinching violently.
"P-please," I stammered, backing away until I hit the wall. "I'll come quietly. You don't need those."
"Protocol," he said flatly, grabbing my wrist with bruising force.
The cold metal against my skin sent me spiralling.
Suddenly, I wasn't in the white cell anymore; I was back in that freezing basement, Damien's hands rough as he secured me to the wall, his breath hot against my neck as he whispered what he planned to do to me.
The feel of him as he… A whimper escaped my throat as the enforcer secured the second cuff and snapped back into this horrible existence.
"Move," the taller one commanded, gripping my upper arm and propelling me forward.
I stumbled into the hallway, blinking against the brightness of the fluorescent lights.
More white walls, more sterile emptiness.
They marched me down corridor after corridor, my bare feet slapping against the cold tile.
The grey, itchy pants and top they'd given me after taking my clothes offered little warmth or dignity, and I felt exposed, vulnerable under the harsh lights.
We stopped in front of a set of imposing double doors.
My escorts paused, and one spoke into a communication device on his wrist.
"Bringing in the accused now."
The doors swung open, revealing what looked like a traditional courtroom, except where a judge's bench should have been sat a panel of twelve men.
They were arranged in a semicircle, elevated above the rest of the room, their faces uniformly stern and cold.
Below them, rows of spectator seating stretched back into shadow.
Most seats were empty, but I could make out perhaps two dozen figures scattered throughout, some in Trivium uniforms, others in business attire, all watching with expressions ranging from boredom to morbid curiosity.
And then, in the front row, I saw them.
Logan, Ryder, and Cole sat rigidly side by side, their faces drawn with exhaustion and worry.
Logan's jaw was clenched so tightly I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
Ryder's usual animation was gone, replaced by a stillness that seemed almost unnatural on him.
Cole's eyes tracked my every move, his hands gripping his knees as if to stop himself from leaping forward.
I could tell by the despair on their faces that we were in serious trouble.
The sight of them nearly broke me. I wanted to run to them, to throw myself into their arms and beg them to take me home.
But the enforcers' grip was unyielding as they marched me to a small, boxed area that resembled a witness stand.
They positioned me there and stepped back, though they remained close enough to grab me if I tried to run.
I fought to control my expression, to not show the terror clawing at my insides.
But when Logan's eyes met mine, filled with a helpless anguish I'd never seen before, I felt my composure cracking.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, using the pain to focus, to keep from falling apart completely.
One of the men in the centre of the panel, older than the others, with steel-grey hair and eyes like chips of ice, cleared his throat. The room fell silent.
"This tribunal is now in session," he announced, his voice carrying effortlessly through the chamber.
"We are convened to hear the case against Cadence Turner, accused of fraud against the Trivium Foundation, falsification of scholarship credentials, and violation of the Legacy Code.
" He looked down at me, his gaze clinical and detached, as if I were an insect pinned to a board.
"Cadence Turner, you stand accused of knowingly and wilfully falsifying your application to the Courts scholarship program by claiming Legacy status to which you were not entitled. How do you plead?" I swallowed hard, my throat dry with fear.
"I-I don't understand the charges," I said, hating how small my voice sounded. "I never applied for the Courts scholarship. I was on an academic scholarship. It’s all on record, look it up."
A murmur ran through the tribunal. The grey-haired man's expression hardened.
"Pretending ignorance will not help your case, Miss Turner," he said coldly.
"We have substantial evidence of your deception.
" He nodded to someone I couldn't see, and a large screen on the wall illuminated.
On it appeared a document, a scholarship acceptance form with my signature at the bottom. My stomach dropped.
"Do you recognise this document?" he asked. I stared at the signature. I recognised the document as the contract I had been given at the beginning of the year. It looked like mine, it was my signature, but I had no memory of signing it.
"That looks like my signature," I admitted, "but I didn't sign that. I never applied for the Courts scholarship."
"Yet you accepted placement in Courts House, accepted the financial benefits, and participated as a Courts student in multiple events, culminating in your selection as Consort to Covenant House," another panel member said, his tone suggesting he'd already decided my guilt.
"No!" I protested, my voice cracking. "I tried to get it cleared up! The first day I was transferred, I went to the administration to tell them there had been a mistake!"
The grey-haired man consulted a file before him. "Yes, our records indicate you visited the administration on September 17th. Records also show that following this meeting, additional funds were deposited into your account, funds you accepted and used."
"Because they wouldn't let me leave!" I cried, desperation making me bold. "They told me the contract was binding, that if I broke it, my grandparents would have to repay everything!"
"A convenient story," a third panel member said dismissively. Tears burned in my eyes. They weren't listening. They'd already decided I was guilty.
"The evidence clearly shows," the grey-haired man continued, "that you manipulated a time-honoured system for your own benefit.
The Courts scholarship is reserved exclusively for those with Legacy blood.
Can you provide any evidence of Legacy status to substantiate your claim?
" I felt the last of my hope drain away.
"No," I whispered, the tears finally spilling over. "No, I can't."
The panel members exchanged glances, though it seemed more performative than consultative. They'd known the answer before they asked the question. The grey-haired man nodded gravely.
"Then this tribunal finds Cadence Turner guilty of all charges. You are hereby convicted of fraud and-"
"NO!"
The shout tore through the room like a thunderclap. I jerked my head up to see Ryder on his feet, his face contorted with panic and rage.
"It was me!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with emotion.
"I was the one who faked the records. It was me, not her!
She had nothing to do with it!" The room erupted in shocked murmurs.
I stared at Ryder in horror, unable to process what he was doing.
The panel members were on their feet, shouting for order, but Ryder continued, his words tumbling out in desperate confession.
"I forged her signature! I manipulated the system to get her into Courts! She's innocent!" Before the enforcers could reach him, Logan stood as well, his face a mask of grim determination. He looked at me, his hazel eyes filled with apology, and mouthed "I'm sorry" before turning to the tribunal.
"It wasn't just Ryder," he declared, his voice carrying over the chaos. "I orchestrated the whole thing. I ordered Ryder to falsify the documents. I manipulated the system to bring Cadence in as Consort against her will. The guilt is mine."
“I was also involved,” Cole said, standing up beside Ryder and Cole. “I am as much to blame as these two, but Cade, she is not to blame; she is the victim here.”
The room descended into complete pandemonium.
The panel members shouted for silence, enforcers moved toward Logan, Cole, and Ryder, and spectators rose from their seats, craning to see the unfolding drama.
Through it all, I remained frozen in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.
They were sacrificing themselves for me.
After everything, the punishment ritual, the branding, the manipulation, they were still trying to protect me.
Or were they telling the truth? Had they actually been the ones to do all this to me?
The grey-haired man slammed his hand down repeatedly on the surface before him.
"Order!" he roared. "I will have order in this tribunal!" Gradually, the noise subsided. Cole, Logan, and Ryder remained standing, their postures defiant despite the enforcers who now flanked them. The grey-haired man's face was flushed with anger.
"In light of these... unexpected developments," he said, his voice tight with controlled fury, "this tribunal is temporarily adjourned. The accused will be returned to a holding room while we investigate these new claims." He turned his cold gaze on Logan, Cole, and Ryder.
"The Regents of Covenant House will be detained for questioning.
This hearing will reconvene when we have determined the veracity of these confessions.
" He struck a gavel against the surface before him, the sound echoing like a gunshot through the chamber.
Immediately, the enforcers beside me stepped forward, taking my arms in their bruising grip once more.
"Wait!" I cried, struggling against them as they began to drag me toward the door. "Please, let me speak to them." Logan's eyes met mine one last time, filled with a mixture of determination and regret.
"It's going to be okay, Princess," he called, even as enforcers moved to restrain him. "We'll fix this."
"Don't fight them, Cade," Cole added, his voice steady despite the tension in his face. "We'll handle it." Ryder didn't speak, but the anguish in his blue eyes said everything his voice couldn't.
Then I was through the doors, and they were gone.
The enforcers marched me back through the maze of white corridors to a room that looked more like a windowed waiting room than the cell I was just in.
I was told to sit at the table and be quiet before the door was slammed shut, and I heard the finality of the lock sliding into place.
I dropped heavily into a seat with all the weight of despair in me.
I sat there, my mind reeling with what had just happened.
They'd confessed to crimes they didn't commit, or had they?
Had they really been the ones to forge my signature, to manipulate my placement at Courts House from the very beginning?