Jordan walked toward me.
The crowd parted instinctively.
No one dared step into his path.
Camera flashes exploded from every direction, reporters practically walking backwards as they followed him, shouting questions over one another.
"Jordan! Is it true she bewitched you?"
"Did she manipulate your mind?"
"Are you pressing charges against Miss Carter?"
"Did the relationship begin with coercion?"
He ignored every single one of them.
His stride never faltered.
There was something infuriatingly regal about the man. Even walking toward a hearing that might end in his execution, he carried himself with the effortless confidence of someone arriving at his own concert.
Percy leaned toward me.
"This," he murmured, "is either going to help us..."
Jordan stopped before me.
"...or ruin us."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
He simply looked at me.
Really looked.
His frost eyes swept over the dark circles beneath mine, the colourless lips, the fever that still lingered in my face.
Then they dropped lower.
To my wrists.
The angry red marks left by the cuffs.
Something shifted inside his expression.
Not anger.
Something quieter.
More dangerous.
"You look terrible," he said softly.
Despite everything, I laughed.
"You look insufferably handsome."
The corner of his mouth lifted.
"Good."
"What?"
"That means we're still ourselves."
I felt tears prick unexpectedly behind my eyes.
He had always known exactly how to make me laugh at the worst possible moment.
Jordan reached out.
Slowly.
As though giving me every opportunity to refuse.
His fingers closed gently around my hand.
Warm.
Steady.
Protective.
The courtyard collectively inhaled.
Jordan intertwined our fingers.
Completely.
Deliberately.
Without shame.
Without hesitation.
Without fear.
The silence lasted barely two seconds before it shattered.
"Jordan!"
"What are you doing?"
"Let go of her!"
"She's manipulating him again!"
A reporter shoved his microphone forward.
"Jordan Files!"
Jordan didn't even glance at him.
"Did Night Carter enchant you?"
He continued looking only at me.
"If anyone here has been enchanted..."
His thumb brushed lightly across my knuckles.
"...it was me."
Silence.
Not ordinary silence.
The stunned, breathless kind that follows catastrophe.
Hundreds of people stared.
Dozens of cameras captured the moment.
Somewhere behind us, someone whispered,
"...He just admitted it."
The whisper spread.
"He admitted it."
"He loves her."
"Oh my God..."
Then the shouting returned with twice the force.
"No!"
"Jordan!"
"She's ruining his life!"
"Separate them!"
A girl holding a FREE JORDAN placard burst into tears.
Another crumpled hers angrily and threw it onto the ground.
Percy pinched the bridge of his nose thoughtfully
"I spent years in law school," he muttered. "I have never seen a client sabotage his own defence before entering the courtroom."
Jordan finally looked at him.
"I'm making your job harder?"
"Exponentially."
"I'm sorry."
"You don't sound sorry."
"I'm not."
Even Percy laughed.
A short, helpless laugh.
"I suspected as much."
The guards exchanged uncertain glances.
None of them seemed willing to separate us.
Perhaps none wished to be the person who physically dragged Jordan Files away while half the Academy watched.
A familiar voice cut through the uproar.
"Move!"
Moira Files.
The Deputy Sheriff strode through the crowd, her uniform immaculate, authority radiating from every step.
The reporters instinctively stepped aside.
She stopped before us.
Her eyes travelled from Jordan...
...to our joined hands.
She closed her eyes briefly.
When she opened them again, she looked every bit the officer she was.
"The hearing is waiting."
Jordan didn't move.
Neither did I.
Moira sighed.
"Jordan."
He met her gaze.
"I know."
"But?"
His fingers tightened around mine.
"I'm walking in with her."
A muscle twitched in Moira's jaw.
"You do understand the consequences."
"I understood them the moment I fell in love."
She searched his face for some trace of uncertainty.
She found none.
At last, she looked at me.
"You?"
I swallowed.
"I'm walking in with him."
For the briefest moment...
Something almost maternal softened her features.
Then duty reclaimed them.
"So be it."
She stepped aside.
"The High Council of Tish awaits."
Jordan glanced at me.
"Ready?"
I smiled weakly "Not even slightly."
"Good."
He squeezed my hand.
"Neither am I."
Together...
We climbed the long stone staircase toward the Council Hall.
Above us, enormous oak doors began to swing open.
A herald in crimson robes struck the marble floor with a silver staff.
His voice echoed across the entire courtyard.
"All rise..."
The murmuring ceased.
"...for the High Council of Tish."