Neuvillette had summoned Wriothesley to his office, where stacks of court papers surrounded him. The normally composed judge was anything but; his pristine appearance had faded over the past three days spent locked in the office. His clothes were rumpled, faint bags marked his eyes, and a mix of alcohol and tea lingered in the air. As he paced back and forth, the gentle flick of his tail echoed his frustration. His brows knit tightly together as he stared at the file in his hand, a question gnawing at his thoughts: was there something about the defendant he was missing, or was he simply losing his grip on the truth? Each piece of information he reviewed seemed to confirm his suspicions, but doubts crept in like shadows. His pacing quickened, his tail swishing with each sharp turn, exasperation evident in his huffs. He couldn’t afford to overlook any detail, not with the stakes this high.