The drone of her lead defense attorney's voice bounced off the high mahogany panels of the courtroom steadily. Gianna leaned back slightly, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her navy wool blazer shifting with the movement.
Did I overdo it?
The question rose in her mind for the umpteenth time since the session began.
Of course she had seen Noah the very second she walked through the double doors. She had spotted him long before Athena's frantic waving caught her eye from across the gallery. But a sudden, sharp calculation had struck her right there at the entrance, and she had run with it without a second thought.
Noah sat three rows across, his face a perfectly constructed wall of marble. To anyone else, he looked like a supportive fiancé waiting patiently in the wings. But Gianna caught the small, telling fractures—the slight white pressure at the corners of his clenched jaw, the rigid line of his spine, the dangerous stillness in his posture.
