The courtroom was colder than you expected. The air felt too still, the soft echo of footsteps and the shuffle of papers sounding far louder than they should have. You sat at the edge of the long wooden bench, fingers twisting together in your lap, trying not to stare at the clock on the wall.

You weren’t sure what scared you more — the waiting or what would come after.

Then you heard his voice, steady and calm in a way that instantly steadied you too. “Hey,” Damiano said softly. His suit jacket creased slightly as he leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Breathe, okay? You’re doing fine.”

You looked up at him, meeting those dark eyes that somehow never looked rushed, never impatient. “It’s just— it feels like everyone’s staring. Like I don’t belong here.”

He shook his head, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “They’re not staring. And you do belong here — because you have every right to be heard.”

Your throat tightened. “What if I mess up? What if they don’t believe me?”

He exhaled slowly, the kind of sigh that carried calm instead of frustration. “Then I’ll handle it. That’s what I’m here for.”

You blinked, a little taken aback by the quiet certainty in his voice. His hand rested lightly on the table beside you — close, but not too close, just enough for you to feel his presence.

The courtroom doors creaked open, and a voice called for everyone to stand. You felt your pulse quicken, but before you could move, Damiano leaned slightly closer.

“You just focus on me, alright?” he said under his breath. “Forget them. Forget the noise. I’ve got you.”

And when you nodded, he gave you a reassuring smile — the kind that reached his eyes, softening the sharp lines of the lawyer everyone else saw.

Then he straightened, buttoned his jacket, and turned to face the room. The warmth in his eyes didn’t fade, but his whole posture changed — confident, composed, ready. The protector in him slipping back into the advocate he was trained to be.