The Prosecutor Laughed at the 19-Year-Old at the Defense Table — Then He Asked Why One Attachment Was Missing

I'm fine, just thinking about the cross-examination for the afternoon session. You're lying, she whispered, a faint, sad ghost of a smile touching the corners of her mouth. You always were a terrible liar when you were stressed. He looked at her, his heart aching at the lines of exhaustion etched around her eyes. You always taught me never to lie to you, he reminded her, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. No, she corrected him gently, reaching out to pat his hand with worn fingers. I told you never to lie badly. Leave the amateur hour to people who don't know any better. For the first time that entire morning, a genuine, watery laugh escaped Noah's throat, a brief spark of warmth in the freezing chill of the legal proceeding. Then Margaret reached across the narrow table, her fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist, grounding him in a way no law book ever could. Promise me something, Noah, she said, her voice carrying an absolute, unyielding seriousness that brooked no argument. What is it? If this trial gets too heavy for you to carry, if Mercer and her team start crushing you into the dirt, you stop right there, she demanded, her eyes searching his soul. You let Professor Ortiz take over every remaining question.