Mitchell looked up.
Their eyes met.
For the first time, Mitchell noticed something he had never paid attention to before. Reed did not look curious when discussing Gavin Cole. He looked irritated.
As if the problem was not uncertainty.
As if the problem was interruption.
After the meeting, Reed lingered.
“Robert,” he said, using the familiarity of old colleagues, “you all right?”
“Why?”
“You seem worn thin.”
Mitchell closed his folder. “Long week.”
“That girl really got under your skin, didn’t she?”
Mitchell’s pulse stayed steady by force. “A child came forward with information.”
“A child who was three years old when the crime happened.”
“Four.”
Reed smiled faintly. “Right. Four.”
The correction landed softly, but Mitchell felt its edge.
Reed stepped closer. “I’m only saying be careful. Lawyers love a story. Reporters love tears. But stories and tears don’t change blood evidence.”
“No,” Mitchell said. “They don’t. But missing evidence does.”
Something flickered in Reed’s eyes.
It lasted less than a second.
Then it was gone.
“Missing evidence?” Reed asked.
Mitchell held his stare. “A general concern.”
Reed nodded slowly. “Well, concerns should go through proper channels.”
“They will.”
“I’d hate to see this place damaged by speculation.”
“This place can survive speculation.”
Reed’s smile faded. “Can it survive scandal?”
Mitchell did not answer.
Reed left the room, his footsteps measured and unhurried.
Only when the door closed did Mitchell allow himself to breathe.
That afternoon, Gavin was moved to a different housing area under the official explanation of “administrative review.” Mitchell signed the order himself and kept the details limited to three trusted officers.
Gavin noticed the change immediately.
When Officer Lee guided him down a corridor he had never taken before, Gavin slowed.
“Where are we going?”
“New unit.”
“Why?”
“Warden’s orders.”
Gavin glanced at him. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
Lee’s face remained neutral, but his voice lowered slightly. “Today, yes.”
The new cell had a small window near the ceiling. Through it, Gavin could see a thin slice of sky.
He stood beneath it for a long time.
Five years on death row had taught him not to trust improvements too quickly. A better cell could be temporary. A kind word could vanish. Hope could be given in a cup so small a man emptied it in one swallow and found himself thirstier than before.
Still, there was sky.
And sky was not nothing.
Later that day, Chloe came to visit.
This time she wore a blue dress and carried a notebook pressed tightly to her chest. Denise walked beside her, but Chloe entered the visitation room first, her steps steadier than before.
Gavin stood when he saw her.
“Hey, peanut.”
“Hi, Daddy.”
They were allowed to sit close, though an officer remained near the door. Gavin noticed the officer was not one he recognized from death row. He also noticed the camera in the corner had been adjusted.
Amelia had told him enough to understand that something new had surfaced, but not enough to burden him with details. That was her way: protect the client, pursue the truth, do not let fear do the work of facts.
Chloe climbed into the chair beside him.
