“You may not,” the bailiff cut in.
The man nodded. “Understood.”
The obedience, rather than diffusing tension, seemed to amplify it, because intimidation is easier to identify when it is loud; silence, especially disciplined silence, leaves too much room for projection.
Halloran raised her voice slightly. “Your Honor, this is a custody hearing involving allegations of instability and risk. The visual message being sent here is inappropriate.”
“It’s not a message,” Lucas said, his cuffed hands trembling faintly as he swallowed and glanced toward Lila, who was watching him with a seriousness that did not belong on a seven-year-old’s face.
Judge Kincaid leaned forward. “Then what is it, Mr. Mercer?”
Lucas inhaled slowly, as if bracing himself against an invisible current. “They’re witnesses.”
A murmur rippled across the benches.
“Witnesses to what?” the judge asked.
Lucas closed his eyes for a brief second before answering. “They’re here to make sure I don’t change my mind.”
