Chapter 3: Hannah’s Arrival
Until one day, a strange woman stopped me at the law firm’s entrance, insisting there was another side to the story that I had to hear immediately.
Her voice was strained, a little desperate—like someone with nothing left to lose. She caught my arm just as I was swiping my keycard, and I could feel the raw urgency in her grip. People coming and going glanced at us, but she didn’t seem to notice.
I glanced at her quickly, thinking she was probably bluffing, but I still asked as I walked, "So, are you here as a witness or what?"
Because the case was so old, there had been no witnesses at the first trial. Who would have thought that, after the verdict, a witness would suddenly show up?
But her answer surprised me: "No, I’m not a witness. I am evidence."
What a strange thing to say.
Her words caught me off-guard. I stopped in my tracks, studying her more closely now. You get all sorts of people in this job, but something about her felt... different, even unsettling.
I stopped and turned to look at her.
Her hair was disheveled, her clothes filthy, as if she’d traveled a long, hard road to stand before me—completely worn out.
There was a haunted look about her, something beyond mere exhaustion. I noticed her boots were caked with mud, and her hands trembled ever so slightly. The smell of stale coffee and winter cold seemed to cling to her.
Through her tangled hair, I glimpsed a pair of sorrowful, youthful eyes. A strange sense of foreboding welled up inside me.
Those eyes were so out of place on a face that young—like she’d lived through a dozen lifetimes in a year. It made my heart race, just a little.