Beckett couldn't help but watch as the jury filed into their box, each seat filling one by one with quiet inevitability. The scrape of chairs, the rustle of fabric, the occasional throat-clearing—small, insignificant sounds that somehow felt deafening in the weighty hush of the courtroom.
Each juror looked truly unremarkable. Faces she might have passed in the aisles of the grocery store, stood behind in line for coffee, or brushed past on a crowded sidewalk without a second thought. Ordinary. Forgettable. And yet, here they were, plucked from the anonymity of daily life to become something else entirely—arbiters of fate. Her fate.
Their expressions were unreadable, masks of neutrality that gave nothing away. Neither too inquisitive nor too disinterested—just the composed detachment of those fulfilling an obligation. Did they feel the gravity of what they were about to decide? Had any of them ever carried the weight of a choice that could upend someone's life in an instant? Did they even want that responsibility?
She studied them, searching for some flicker of emotion—a tremor of hesitation, a shadow of doubt, something to remind her that they were human, that they understood what was at stake. But their eyes, if they met hers at all, were blank. Indifferent.
That, perhaps, was the most unsettling part of all: the realization that these twelve strangers, with no particular expertise, no exceptional qualifications beyond their ability to sit in that box, held the power to decide her future. A jury of her so-called peers, plucked at random, as if justice were something as arbitrary as a lottery draw.
She had seen it a hundred times before. She knew this courtroom—the cool press of its air, the dark gleam of its wood, the distant scent of old paper and polished brass. But it was vastly different from this seat.
The prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney Joss Markson, stood before the judge and jury, his confidence thick in the air like cologne. His voice was measured, controlled—every syllable sharpened to cut.
"Your Honour, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, today the people are charging Katherine Beckett-Castle with the deliberate and premeditated murder of Caleb Brown. A life taken in cold blood. The evidence we will present will leave no room for doubt. We will call four witnesses to the stand who will show you, beyond question, that this woman took a life—Caleb Brown's life—without remorse or reason."
Beckett had heard those words before. Too many times. Murder. The word landed like a blow to the ribs, leaving her winded despite the familiarity of it.
She had killed before—too many times. And with each name, each face burned into her mind, she felt the weight of them pressing against her ribs, constricting her breath. Coonan. The two men who worked with Hal Lockwood. Bracken's henchmen in that motel room. Neiman.
God. Neiman.
It had taken weeks before she could close her eyes without seeing Kelly Neiman's face, without feeling the slick warmth of blood staining her hands as Neiman's life drained away. The phantom sensation lingered even now, the way her pulse had hammered in her ears, the raw scrape of her own breath. But that had been self-defence. Hadn't it? Neiman would have kept killing. Without hesitation. Without mercy.
Beckett knew she had done what had to be done. She only wished the weight of that knowledge made the guilt lighter.
And then there was LokSat, and the people he had sent after her and Vikram. That night had been chaos—flashes of gunfire, Vikram's panicked breathing, the adrenaline roaring in her ears as she moved on instinct. Three more lives. Three more bodies left in her wake.
Nine.
Nine bad people. But still… people.
A part of her—some dark, quiet part she tried to ignore—wondered if maybe she did deserve to be here.
Her fingers curled into a fist against her lap. She turned her head, focusing on the wood-panelled walls, their rich, polished surface suddenly suffocating. She swiped a hand across the corner of her eye before anyone could see.
"You cried twenty-seven times."
Haynes's words slashed through her thoughts like a jagged blade. She was unravelling. And the prosecution hadn't even finished their opening statement. With a steadying breath, she forced herself to sit straighter, pulling her composure around her like armour.
She turned her attention back to Markson—just in time for another blow.
"Third, we will call on the city's medical examiner, Dr. Lanie Parish, who examined Caleb Brown's remains. Dr. Parish will testify that Caleb Brown was burned alive—that he died in the most unspeakable manner."
Beckett felt the words hit her before she fully processed them, like a sudden, violent impact that left her stomach churning. Burned alive.
Her throat tightened.
She had no hatred toward Caleb Brown. Even if she had, she would never have wished that on him. She wouldn't have wished it on anyone. Not on her worst enemy.
But worse than the horror of it—worse than the images threatening to form in her mind—was the sound of Lanie's name.
Her best friend.
The nausea rose higher, curling in her chest. She hadn't seen Lanie in months. For this exact reason.
She missed her.
And now, Lanie would take the stand and say the words that might seal her fate.
"Finally, the prosecution will call the defendant's own employee, Tobias Flynn, who will testify to his role in this and how he acted under the explicit instruction of Katherine Beckett-Castle."
Markson stood before the jury, his posture a mixture of arrogance and certainty, his gaze sweeping the room as if he already knew the outcome.
"Today, the people will prove, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Katherine Beckett-Castle is guilty."
The words settled over her like a closing cell door.
Agent Katz sat stiff-backed on the witness stand, his voice measured, his expression carefully neutral—the same man who had wrenched Castle away from her in handcuffs, who had torn her world apart without a flicker of hesitation.
"My partner and I had been quietly investigating Captain Beckett for several months," he explained to the court, his tone as clinical as if he were reading off a grocery list. "We were a part of the team that initially investigated the deaths of Agent McCord and her team."
The words landed heavy in Beckett's chest, a pressure she had long since grown used to but never truly learned to bear. McCord. Rachel. The first partner she'd ever had outside of homicide. The first person who had seen her as more than just the cop with a vendetta. Gone. And now, her name was being dredged up in this courtroom like another piece of evidence to be twisted against her.
ADA Markson took a step closer to the stand, the predatory gleam in his eyes setting Beckett's nerves on edge. He was enjoying this.
"Tell me, Agent Katz, how did investigating the deaths of Katherine Beckett's former AG team lead to you investigating Katherine herself?"
Katz didn't even flinch. "We believed that Captain Beckett was the next target in this series of assassinations," he stated, as if the idea of being hunted by a network of professional killers was nothing more than a passing curiosity.
The air in the courtroom felt suffocating, heavy with the weight of the past.
"Eventually, the threat was neutralized, and in the end, Assistant Attorney General Allison Hyde was found dead, believed to have ended her life after confessing to be the one behind the whole conspiracy. The dots never connected, for me. Hyde's death, Beckett's survival, the neat little bow tied around this whole conspiracy. I was granted permission to dig further."
Markson's mouth twitched, anticipation curling at the edges of his expression. He wanted this moment. Wanted Katz to lay out his case like a masterpiece, piece by damning piece. "And what did you find?"
Beckett clenched her fists in her lap, nails pressing into her palms. Nothing. Katz had nothing.
Months of scrutiny, digging through her past, her every move dissected and analyzed—nothing. But the truth didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had Tobias Flynn. His lies had built the framework of this entire case, slipping neatly into the empty spaces where facts should have been.
Ryan and Esposito had figured it out too late. They had all figured it out too late.
She had been watched for years. Years.
Every detail of her life—her late nights, her solitude, the way she had spent so much time trying to protect Castle by keeping him at arm's length—all of it had been turned against her. The alibis that should have cleared her had been twisted into gaps. She had thought her isolation would keep her safe. Instead, it had given them exactly what they needed to destroy her.
A bitter taste coated her tongue.
All those months she had pushed Castle away, thinking she was shielding him from the worst of it, keeping him safe. And now, here they were. The moment she had let him in—truly let him in—had been the moment she had sealed his fate, too.
Because if she was their enemy, so was he.
She closed her eyes for a second, blocking out the hum of voices, the weight of the jurors' gazes pressing into her like invisible chains. She forced herself to focus—not on Katz's words, not on the slow erosion of her reputation under his testimony, but on the things that mattered.
Rick.
Their baby boy.
They would find their way out of this. They would see the light at the end of this tunnel.
It didn't always feel like it, but they had been dealt better cards than McCord and her agents. Better than Bracken, who had been slaughtered in solitary confinement. Better than the countless others who had died to keep LokSat's secrets buried.
When Haynes stood, his presence was a sharp contrast to Markson's—cool and steady, a man who knew exactly where to place each strike.
"You believe that Assistant Attorney General Hyde was a patsy and that she was actually murdered in order to cover up this conspiracy," Haynes said as he approached.
"That is correct," Katz confirmed.
Haynes nodded, his gaze flickering toward Beckett before shifting back to the jury. "I think we can all agree the death of Allison Hyde was suspicious, to say the least." Then, he turned his sharp focus back to Katz. "Why isn't Allison Hyde's death on the list of charges brought against Mrs. Beckett-Castle?"
Katz hesitated. His eyes darted toward Markson. For the first time since taking the stand, there was a crack in his carefully controlled demeanour.
He cleared his throat. "We cannot prove that Allison Hyde's death was not a suicide," he admitted.
Haynes tilted his head, feigning surprise. "Oh." He paused just long enough for the weight of Katz's words to settle over the courtroom. "So, why exactly are we discussing the untimely death of the Assistant Attorney General as though my client is somehow responsible?" He turned to the judge.
Judge Caddel raised a questioning brow.
"Your Honour, it was never stated that Mrs. Beckett-Castle was responsible for Allison Hyde's death," Markson cut in smoothly. "Simply that the events of that investigation led Agent Katz and his team to the discovery of her other crimes."
Katz nodded, latching onto Markson's defense like a lifeline.
Haynes let out a small, disbelieving chuckle. "One could argue the relevance," he said with a casual shrug. "Caleb Brown was murdered many months later, correct?"
Katz hesitated again.
"Allison Hyde's suicide was in September, was it not?" Haynes pressed, his voice firm now.
"Yes."
"And Caleb Brown was murdered in May of the following year."
"Yes."
"Was Caleb Brown's murder staged as a suicide?"
"No."
Haynes spread his hands as if presenting the obvious. "So not the same MO. Was there evidence linking the two crime scenes?"
"No, there—"
"Are the victims connected in any way?" Haynes interrupted, not giving Katz the space to dig himself out.
A beat of silence. Then—
"No, they're not."
"So, tell me again, why is the death of Allison Hyde at all relevant to this trial, regarding the death of Caleb Brown?"
Katz scrambled for an answer. "It speaks to the conspiracy—"
"Katherine Beckett-Castle is not on trial for heading some conspiracy ring, is she?" Haynes cut him off, his voice sharp now. "We are here today because she has been charged with the murder of Caleb Brown; a crime in which you have failed to present any actual evidence to indicate my client was involved."
Judge Caddel let out a weary sigh. "I'll ask the jury to disregard any mentions of Allison Hyde's death." He barely spared Katz a glance as the agent sank further into his chair, his mouth pressed into a thin, frustrated line. "Do you have any further questions for this witness?"
Haynes smoothed his hand down the buttons of his suit jacket, as if brushing off invisible dust. "Not at this time, Your Honour."
As he returned to his seat, his gaze met Beckett's.
This was a win. A small one, sure. But a win nonetheless.
Katz's testimony had been nothing more than a desperate attempt to stretch the narrative, to weave a case out of loose threads. But Haynes had cut through it with precision, exposing just how fragile it all was.
Everything they had was circumstantial.
And now, the jury knew it too.