Bright sun flows through the large windows of the courthouse, splaying itself across the shining wood that covers nearly every inner surface. People, all in nice clothes, fill every chair of the room as they speak in hushed whispers almost as though speaking should not be allowed. Peeking out the window, my eyes catch the glints of television cameras and news vans in the bright sun. It feels like spring has decided to make its appearance today with its brilliant sun and soft heat. It feels wrong.

Mitchie, Margaret, and Tom sit behind our prosecutors, the legal team of Mark, Joanne, and Henry, all of whom Tom knows from other court cases he's participated in. On the other side, my parents sit with their legal team as well as Justin, Rosslyn, Todd, Damien, and the other Shepherds. Apparently this is just Damien's murder trial- they can't bring everyone in under one blanket charge. Right now, we're trying to get Damien on murder and Justin, Todd, Rosslyn, and one other Enforcer charged as accessories. Because he was a minor when the crime occurred, Justin's sentence will be much less than the others. That fucking bastard. I can't wait to hear him talk, can't wait for this shit to end.

Someone announces that the trial is about to commence and that we should return to our seats. I clumsily plop myself down next to Mitchie, who immediately puts her hand into mine. Judging by her already watery eyes and my already rising anger, I think this is how they will stay.

A man sitting next to the judge's podium stands up and booms, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the criminal trial of Damien Rutgers in the murder of Maximilian Russo. He is charged with first degree murder. In addition, Justin Russo, Todd Hastings, Rosslyn Grey, and Timothy Jameson are all charged as accessories to murder. Justin Russo is to be charged as a minor. And now I present the presiding judge, Judge Elaine Montoya."

The entire court room rises in a swift motion as Elaine Montoya enters. She is sharp-looking and intense- and clearly eager to start if the speed of her walk is any indication. She sits down in the high chair, and we all return to our seats. I can literally feel my heart beating inside my chest with all the anticipation that hangs in the stale air of this room. She shushes us, takes the gavel in her hand, points to Henry.

"If the prosecution would please make its opening statement." Her voice, too, resounds strong throughout the courtroom. I shoot a quick glance to Rosslyn to see how she's taking it, but there's no expression on her face save for a determined jaw line. I should've known. All it does is make my grip on Mitchie's hand tighten. But she's figured out that when I tighten my grip, she should loosen hers in order to break the contact, to reinforce that my anger is a bad thing. Which I don't think it always is. But whatever. She knows a hell of a lot more about people than I do.

Henry stands up. He doesn't look nearly as nervous as I feel like he should. Nothing shakes: not his voice, not his hands, not his body as he delivers his statement. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I ask you to think not only on this one specific murder trial, but on this entire affair. The psychological and physical damage done to these children is apparent to anyone who has recently watched the news. And now we learn that one has been murdered in the name of protecting the society that had already caused the child harm. He was just four days shy of thirteen, the day he was murdered, on his way to escaping the life he hated. And now, thanks to these people, he will never get to experience the freedom he so long fought for. Throughout this case, I urge you not to think of the murderer, but of the little boy who lost his life at the hands of this man." He returns to his seat, looking completely infuriated. Not by what he said, though; I'm fairly certain his anger is channeled at Damien. I know that mine is. That fucking ass, sitting there all stoic. I'm finding it difficult to contain my anger again. It's hard to look at him.

"And now the defense is free to make its statement," Judge Montoya says.

A female lawyer rises for the defense. Unlike everyone else in the room, she does not look convicted in her cause, but simply completely without expression. "As the prosecution did, I would like to start out with a question: wouldn't it be easier just to believe that this man acted out of malice, killing this little boy? Of course it would. But there are other forces at work here that are perhaps difficult for us to understand as we were not there-"

"I was there," I grumble under my breath. "I saw him kill my brother."

Mitchie kisses me on the cheek. "I know that, Alex. And the jury does, too. Just look at them."

Tuning out the rest of the defense's statement, I let my eyes wander to the jury. They're all dubiously staring at the lawyer, not buying into her cryptic words. I'm pretty sure that the lawyer herself doesn't buy her statement.

Judge Elaine Montoya can't show any emotion. "We will start out with the prosecution. Who would you like to call to the stand?"

Mark sends me a glance, just to make sure I'm ready. I give him a nod. "The prosecution would like to call Alexandra Russo to the stand."

With one last squeeze from Mitchie, I let her hand go and take my steps to the stand. Mark briefed me on the questions that they would be asking me and told me how the whole process would work beforehand, so in theory I shouldn't be close to breaking down. But I am.

As soon as I reach the stand, Mark begins to fire off questions. He knows that I want to be off there as quickly as possible, and I asked him to do a sort of rapid-fire deal with me. "Ms. Russo, you were there the night of the shooting?"

"Yes."

"Can you tell me your original plan for that night?"

I sigh, nearly terrified to recall the events out loud. It could've been so perfect. "Me, my brother, and my friend Mitchie were all going to escape after we saw the guards pass by our house. Then we were going to run through the woods to the fence that surrounds the compound. Once we got to the outside world, we were going to go to the police for help."

"So none of you were carrying anything that could have been misconstrued as a weapon of some sort?" Mark keeps pacing as he questions me, like he's taking the answers in and processing them.

I shake my head. "No. We weren't carrying anything. Mitchie and I were both in dresses, and Max was wearing pants and a shirt. We didn't take anything with us."

"The guards then caught up with you in the woods. Is that correct?"

"Yes." I'm not sure if I can his name without spitting it out like a poison. "We heard Justin shouting from the direction of the house. I'm not sure if he was inside or outside. We started running through the woods. Then, someone fired a gun. Me, Mitchie, and Max stopped to Damien holding the gun. I couldn't see anyone else. We dodged, and..."

"And then he shot your brother?" Mark's voice barely grows above a whisper, but it's overridden by the voice of the defense's female lawyer.

"Objection!" she shouts from her chair.

"Denied," Judge Montoya replies and turns to Mark. "Continue." I have no idea what that exchange means, but it causes Mark to smile, which has to be a good thing.

"Did you see him shoot your brother?" His voice is a little louder now, the volume of a strong whisper.

My voice cracks quietly on one word. "Yes."

Mark faces Judge Montoya and does a half-bow. "No further questions, Your Honor."

"Defense, would you like to cross-examine the witness?" Montoya asks the lawyer.

She nods curtly and stands. "Most certainly, Your Honor." I hear her heels clip against the floor as she walks over, the stilettos sounding loudly throughout the silent chamber. "Alexandra, is it?"

"I prefer Alex." I don't like this woman. She's an asshole.

"On the night that you attempted to escape, was there a large of amount of moonlight?"

I'm caught off guard by her question. "I guess. Enough for me to see his face."

"And you said you couldn't see the others?"

"Not their faces. I wasn't really focused on anyone but him." I feel anger replacing my other emotions, and I will my body to keep itself in check. As much fun as it would be to strangle this woman, I really can't.

"Interesting. Then how are you sure that it was Damien?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, Damien has been whipping me for the past three years as punishment. And anyone can tell you I was punished a lot. I think I'd recognize him anywhere." I stare her down, though she doesn't react.

"Are you sure that the anger you must feel towards this man didn't cause you to see him holding the gun?" she asks. Unlike Mark, she doesn't pace around but stays stock still in one place. Her feet are anchored to the ground.

I have to choke back a laugh. "As much as I hate Damien, I hate Rosslyn more. If I was hallucinating, it would have been her face holding that gun."

The female lawyer chews on her lip, clearly trying to figure out something else to ask me. But I can see the defeat in her eyes. Ha! Take that, defense! "No further questions."

The day wears on much like this, the ebb and flow of the interrogations matching my changes in mood. Mitchie gets called up to the stand, but they don't really learn much from her. She didn't see his face, and she's really lucky for that. Damien's eyes have been appearing in my dreams recently, followed by the crack of a gun. Then I wake up. It's been disturbing Mitchie's sleep, but she never complains or acknowledges it.

After Mitchie's testimony, her hand never leaves mine. We sit close together, our scared breaths mingling together and hair brushing against each others. No one's testimony really proves as much as mine did. Even Damien's. They dance around the subject, trying to prove more that he was just performing his duty rather than knowingly committing a murder. It's not working. It's making my blood boil.

And then, Mark does something way out of the ordinary. "I'd like to call Justin Russo to the stand." Hushed murmuring returns to the audience as Justin confusedly makes his way over to the stand.

I lean over to hit Mark on the shoulder before he leaves. "What do you think you're doing?" I hiss. "He's on their side!"

Mark taps his head like he's been thinking. "I got it all in here. Just trust me, Alex." I have no other choice. He meanders up to the podium, looking all proud and smug with his little plan. I sure hope he knows what he's doing. But according to Tom, he's one of the greatest lawyers out there, so I'm gonna guess he knows his stuff.

His intimidating walk seems to be doing its job at least: Justin's fiddling awkwardly with his tie as he sits there, eyes flying everywhere but Mark. "How are you doing today, son?"

"Nervous," Justin mutters honestly, though I think pretty much everyone else has noticed that.

Mark nods. "Well, I'll make this quick, then. You were the one who alerted the, er, Enforcers the night your brother was murdered?"

"I didn't know they were going to kill him!" Justin's voice is frenzied as he grips the sides of his chair with white knuckles.

"I know. You can't get in trouble for saying something like that," Mark soothes. "Really. What happened after you sounded the alarm, though- that's what you can get in trouble for. What did you do, Justin, after the alarm-"

"Nothing!" he screeches, his voice reaching a higher pitch. "I went outside! I found them! They-they-" He has tears streaking down the sides of his face, and I don't know quite what to feel right now. Everything about him screams confusion, each bit of his clothing becoming more and more frazzled by the second. "They made me go with them! I went! And- and- and- they SHOT HIM! They shot my brother!"

"And what happened before that?" Mark continues to utilize his gentle, calming tone.

"We got to the trees! And he-" Justin points a shaking, accusatory finger at Damien- "got out a gun! Because of what she-" he turns the finger to Rosslyn- "said! And then I tried to stop them... I-I tried... But he grabbed me!" His finger finally reaches the other Enforcer, Timothy. I feel a slight stream of tears coming down my face. I can't believe it... my brother, trying to fight the Enforcers. "I t-t-tried to get away, but I couldn't! I just couldn't!"

Mark has to fight hard to keep his cool. "So you didn't want them to shoot your brother?"

"No!" The power of that word is so pronounced that I feel myself hit the back of my seat with a slight force as though he pushed me. He's becoming wild now, his hands flailing everywhere as he makes excessive movements with his lips, like he's trying to say more than what he can actually get out. "And, and people are going to say I wanted him to shoot my sister, but I didn't! I don't!" He stares accusingly at the audience in such a way that gives the impression of fierce determination even with his intense tears, tears that match the rhythm of the ones streaking down my face at this very moment. Watching this testimony is like having someone press his foot on my chest and slowly lift it up, so that I can only get a real breath once it's over.

"Why didn't you want your siblings to get caught?" Mark tries not to look at Justin while he says this for fear his strong facade might crumble like a majority of the audience's has.

"Because they're family!" he explodes, leaping up and holding onto the front of the stand. The police officers on the side ready themselves for action. "If there was one lesson I learned at Havenwood, it's that you love your family no matter what! I love my brother and, yes, I love my sister, too!"

The pain, joy, sadness, anger, hate, jealousy, love I feel all at that statement allow something I never thought I'd ever say slip out of my mouth. "I love you, too, Justin." But it's not loud enough for anyone but Mitchie to hear. Like she did on Christmas Eve, she crushes me against her chest, holding me with the desperation of an injured soldier clinging to a nurse. In reality, Justin is no different than I am: he tried to help his brother, but it got messed up. He tried to save him, but he couldn't.

"And sometimes it feels like Alex is the only one left, because my parents don't even care anymore! They don't care that their youngest son is dead and their only daughter hates them!" His voice continues to escalate, both in loudness and pitch. "I sounded that alarm to save our family! I wanted us to work together! I wanted us to love each other again! But now that will never happen!"

His confusion turns to shock as though he's just realized the exact gravity of that statement. The crazed anger and tears stop flowing through his body for just a moment as he holds that expression for a split-second, one frame of a camera.

And then he cries. He cries like I cried the night I found out Max was dead, right after I tried to destroy myself with the glass. He cries like Mitchie did the night I found her in the bathroom, hopeless and broken. He cries with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. And he cries with enough volume to silence the entire courthouse.

At that moment, in my heart, there is a small thought planted, a small start towards forgiveness.