Norah’s fingers threaded into Atlas’s fur. She leaned closer to his ear and whispered something so soft that only the dog could have heard it. Atlas didn’t move, didn’t flinch. His ears remained relaxed. But the tip of his tail thumped once against the rug.
The defense attorney, Martin Halpern, exhaled loudly, as if to signal impatience. “Your Honor,” he began, “we object to this spectacle. The child is clearly not competent to testify.”
Judge Calder raised a hand. “We will determine competency through observation, Mr. Halpern. Sit down.”
Norah finally allowed Camille to help her into the witness chair, though she sat sideways, her small body angled toward Atlas so that one hand could remain buried in his fur. Her legs dangled, not reaching the floor. The microphone was adjusted lower.
Leah softened her voice further. “Norah, can you tell us who Atlas is?”
Silence.
Leah shifted her strategy. She turned slightly toward the dog. “Atlas, can you help Norah feel safe?”
A faint, almost imperceptible smile flickered across Norah’s face. She bent down and whispered again into Atlas’s ear. This time, she didn’t hide her mouth from the room.
“He knows,” she said quietly.
The words were barely audible, but the microphone caught them. A ripple moved through the gallery.
