The sun had risen to its highest point by the time the tribunal had processed four more families. Each arrival followed the same ritual—nobles escorted in with trembling pride, masks of composure barely holding. Accusations read aloud like death sentences. Evidence paraded out in the form of living victims or damning records. Silence from Allen. Silence from Fina and Rinni. The foxkin elders spoke little, only nodding or shaking their heads while the weight of Allen's authority rendered their positions increasingly ceremonial.
And always—always—Soreya remained kneeling.
Her back had begun to ache hours ago. Her thighs screamed with a steady, burning throb. The tray on her back trembled each time a breeze passed or she shifted even slightly to keep her balance. Her mouth was dry. Her limbs tingled. But she didn't fall. She didn't dare.
No one acknowledged her anymore. That was the most humiliating part.
