For the first time since the trial had begun, I felt the momentum shift.
It was subtle—barely noticeable—but it was there.
Elias had been confident. Too confident. His answers were clean, precise, and calculated.
But I had caught something.
That one moment.
When I had asked where exactly Mr. Fox had been, he had paused before answering.
It was small—maybe less than a second—but it told me everything I needed to know.
He was thinking about it.
Not reciting from a script. Not recalling a memorized lie.
He had been there.
Which meant that at some point during the chaos—he was in the same location that Mr. Fox had been previously.
But I didn't need to prove that.
I just needed to prove that Elias was lying. That while Mr. Fox was there, Elias wasn't there at that moment.
I locked eyes with him, keeping my voice measured.
"Mr. Moreau," I said, each word deliberate. "What time was it when you saw Mr. Fox?"
The courtroom went completely silent.
Even Damian wasn't smirking anymore.
Elias blinked. Just once.
"I… I don't know."
I shook my head. "No, that's not an acceptable answer."
Elias' jaw tightened. "I was focused on the fires. Time wasn't my concern."
"That's interesting," I mused. "Because wouldn't a firefighter on-site need to know the time?"
He stiffened slightly.
I pressed forward.
"You were scouting the area. You were monitoring the fires, correct?"
"Yes," Elias said slowly.
"And wouldn't knowing the time be essential in that case? To calculate how long it would take for reinforcements to arrive? To estimate the spread of the fire?"
Elias exhaled sharply. "I was too focused on the district fires. It was the most disastrous event in a long time."
I tilted my head. "Then let me ask you this instead—can you at least say whether it was the beginning, middle, or the end of the event?"
He hesitated.
And for the first time since he had taken the stand, I saw doubt flicker across his face.
"I… I can't say for sure."
I kept my voice neutral, but inside, I was smiling.
"A firefighter," I repeated, letting the words sink in, "with seven years of experience, who was actively monitoring the situation, can't even say the broadest moment of when he saw the accused?"
Elias remained silent.
I let the silence stretch.
Then—
"Fine," I said, my tone even. "Let's try something simpler."
I turned slightly, gesturing toward Mr. Fox—Sienna.
She moved, just enough for the entire court to get a clear look at her mask.
I turned back to Elias.
"Mr. Moreau," I said, "can you describe the color of Mr. Fox's mask when you saw him light the fuse?"
Elias exhaled.
"The fire was massive," he said, his tone slightly defensive. "There was a lot of smoke—"
"Yes, but you testified earlier," I interrupted, "that you had a clear vantage point. That you had a perfect line of sight to see him lighting the fuse. If you could see that, then surely you could see his mask which might I remind you, is the most noticeable feature of the Masked Syndicate."
I stepped forward.
"So? What color was it?"
Elias hesitated. Shifting is gaze towards Damian as if seeking reassurance.
"It was similar to the one in court," he finally said. "But it was darker—charred from the fires."
I clasped my hands behind my back, tilting my head slightly.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes," Elias said, more firm this time. "Without a shred of doubt."
That was what I had been waiting for.
I let the silence linger for a moment before turning back to the jury.
"Would it shock you," I said smoothly, "if the statement made by Mr. Moreau was factually incorrect?"
A murmur spread through the room.
I turned back to Elias.
"The masks worn by the Masked Syndicate," I said, "are of perfect quality."
Damian scoffed, clearly recognizing Camille's handiwork—but he remained silent, likely assuming we had stolen them.
I could tell that Camille, on the other hand, was slightly blushing under her Mr. Dust mask.
I ignored them both.
I kept my gaze locked onto the jury, speaking with confidence.
"Throughout the rescues, Mr. Fox's mask retained its vibrant orange color. This was not speculation. This was not opinion. This was a documented fact."
I gestured slightly.
"News footage around a year ago, from that night, taken after the fires, clearly shows Mr. Fox's mask—untouched. Not charred. Not darkened. The color remained the same."
Another wave of murmurs spread through the court.
The judge banged the gavel. "Order in the court!"
I took a slow step back.
I turned to Elias, my voice dropping just slightly.
"You testified under oath," I said. "That you saw Mr. Fox with a charred mask."
Elias didn't say anything.
I let the weight of my words settle over the courtroom.
"Your Honor," I said, finally turning back toward the judge, "I have no further questions."
A tense silence filled the room as Elias was escorted off the stand.
I returned to my seat, feeling the tension in the air.
Damian was not happy.
He kept his expression composed, but I could see it in the way his jaw clenched—the way his fingers curled slightly into a fist.
His first witness had just collapsed.
And he knew it.
Still, he stayed composed.
He had more witnesses.
And he was about to call the next one.
He stood, adjusting his jacket, and turned to the bailiff.
"The prosecution calls Mr. Dust to the stand."
I went rigid.
Camille.
A flicker of something crossed her face under the mask, but she didn't move. She was hesitating, uncertain of what to do.
Then—
"Objection!"
The word exploded out of me before I even fully realized what I was doing.
The courtroom went dead silent.
All eyes turned to me.
Damian slowly turned, his expression unreadable.
The bailiff hesitated.
And the judge raised a brow.
I exhaled.
Slowly.
I had no plan for this moment.
But I sure as hell was going to make one.
"On what grounds, Mr. Leviathan?" the judge asked.
I met his gaze.
And I improvised.