They read the charge twice, like repeating it would make it settle better in my head. First-degree murder. Premeditated. No room to breathe. No room to twist the story the way I’d twisted so many others before. The detective’s voice was calm, almost bored, like he was ordering coffee instead of dropping a life sentence in my lap. I didn’t say a word. I just stared at the table, metal and scratched, hands cuffed so tight my wrists burned. I’d been in rooms like this before — on the other side of the door, usually. Pulling strings. Paying people off. Making problems disappear. This one didn’t disappear. The evidence was clean. Too clean. Witnesses. Camera footage. A weapon they didn’t even have to dig for. Whoever set this up knew exactly how the system worked. And for the first time in my life, money wasn’t going to fix it. They left me alone after that. Fluorescent light buzzing overhead, ticking like a countdown. I leaned back in the chair and laughed once — low, humorless. So this was it. Then I said her name. “Kaori Son.” The cop paused at the door. Looked back at me. “I want a lawyer,” I added. “And I want her.” They didn’t let me see her until the next morning. I heard her heels before I saw her — steady, confident, unhurried. Not rushed. Not nervous. Like she already owned the room she was walking into. The door opened. Kaori stepped in, dark suit, hair pulled back clean and sharp, eyes cool as glass. She didn’t smile. Didn’t ask how I was. She set her briefcase down, sat across from me, and finally looked up. “First-degree,” she said flatly. “That’s ambitious.” I huffed. “Good to see you too.” She ignored that. “They’re pushing for life. No parole. Prosecutor’s riding this hard — career case. You pissed off someone powerful.” “Yeah,” I muttered. “That’s kind of my thing.” Her gaze sharpened. “Don’t joke. Not now.” Silence stretched between us. I’d faced guns steadier than this woman’s stare. She wasn’t afraid of me — never had been. That was why I came to her. “I didn’t plan it,” I said finally. “I didn’t even know he’d be there.” “I don’t care,” she replied. “I care what I can prove.” I leaned forward, cuffs clinking softly. “Then tell me the truth. Do I walk out of here?” For the first time, something flickered in her eyes. Not fear. Calculation. “It’s bad,” she admitted. “They’ve got motive, timeline, and a narrative they like. There’s no easy out.” My jaw tightened. “But?” She closed her file slowly. “But narratives can be broken. Evidence can be challenged. And people make mistakes.” I exhaled, slow and controlled. “I came to you because everyone else already buried me.” She met my gaze, unwavering. “If I take this case, you do exactly what I say. No backroom calls. No threats. No ‘handling things’ from inside a cell. You lie to me once, and you’re done.” I nodded. “You’re the boss.” Her lips pressed into a thin line. “For now.” She stood, gathering her things. Paused at the door. “Seunghyun,” she said quietly. “If there’s something you’re not telling me — something that changes everything — now is the time.” I looked at the table. At my hands. At the future shrinking by the second. “There’s more,” I said. She turned back. And just like that, my life was hanging on her next move.