Eleanor’s mind processed the catastrophic violation of protocol in a fraction of a second. But she was a professional, operating in the highest echelons of the justice system. She did not scream. She did not drop her files. She completely bypassed the existence of the frantic officer, treating him as nothing more than a temporary, irrelevant nuisance.
She stood up perfectly straight, looked directly into Marcus’s calm, unfazed eyes, and delivered the reality check that would shatter the deputy’s entire world.
"Judge Holloway, they're ready for you."
The words hung in the air, echoing off the sterile walls like the final, deafening strike of a wooden gavel.
Judge Holloway.
The name hit Miller like a physical shockwave. Time seemed to violently stop. The aggressive, burning rage in his chest was instantly extinguished, replaced by a freezing, paralyzing terror that turned his blood to ice water. His eyes darted from the clerk's serious, respectful face, up to the towering man standing before him, and finally, to the gleaming brass plaque on the door: JUDGE MARCUS HOLLOWAY - CHAMBERS.
Miller’s hands went entirely numb. The heavy, pleated fabric of the judicial robe slipped from his trembling fingers as if it had suddenly caught fire. He stumbled backward, his knees going weak, his mouth falling open in a silent, suffocating gasp of pure horror. The arrogant alpha of the hallway had been instantaneously reduced to a terrified, trembling subordinate staring down the barrel of his own career destruction.
Marcus Holloway did not yell. He did not gloat. He simply reached up with a calm, steady hand and adjusted the collar of his robe, smoothing out the wrinkles where the ignorant officer had grabbed him.