City of Ashes -Book 2-

Chapter 15

The marble steps of New York's Supreme Court building held an unusual chill for early autumn, each breath visible in the morning air. Liam straightened his tie for the third time, the formal attire a stark departure from weeks spent hunched over ritual circles and hospital chairs. The Libérium pendant pressed against his chest, its familiar weight a reminder of their failed attempt in Elena's basement just days ago.

Through the building's towering doors, he caught glimpses of the Special Paranormal Division's work - subtle wards woven into classical architecture, invisible to most but glowing like ember-light to his trained eye. Officer Martinez nodded from his post near the metal detectors, one hand resting near the specialized ammunition they'd developed after the warehouse incident. The security presence had tripled since Thorne's transport from maximum security, though Liam doubted conventional weapons would make much difference if his brother truly decided to act.

"Stick to the script," Elena murmured as they cleared security. Her badge drew the usual respectful acknowledgments, though her reputation had taken on new weight since heading the Thorne investigation. "No matter what he says in there, no matter what he implies about Ariya, the Arcanum, the Statue of Liberty..."

"I know." Liam's jaw tightened. They'd spent weeks crafting testimony that could withstand legal scrutiny while concealing the truth. The Arcanum's destruction became a gas main explosion. Shadow creatures transformed into experimental drones. Every supernatural element carefully translated into mundane terms that left him feeling hollow.

Zoe waited for them outside Courtroom Three, her police academy textbook tucked under one arm while she scanned a weathered journal. The past months had changed her - grief over Ariya's sacrifice channeled into determined study of both magical and mundane law enforcement. She looked up as they approached, dark circles under her eyes testament to another late night of research.

"Public opinion's divided," she reported, showing them her phone. News coverage splashed across the screen, headlines debating Thorne's apparent remorse during pre-trial hearings. "Some are calling for maximum penalties, others think he's genuinely changed since his arrest."

The courtroom doors opened precisely at nine, the gallery filling with a mix of press, survivors, and the morbidly curious. Elena took her place beside the prosecution, case files arranged with military precision. Each document represented hours of careful editing, supernatural chaos distilled into reasonable doubt. Zoe slipped into a seat behind them, her academy notebook open but her attention fixed on the door where they would bring in the defendant.

When they brought Thorne in, Liam felt the pendant grow warm despite the suppression fields humming in the walls. His brother moved with the same fluid grace he'd shown in their father's training hall, the prison jumpsuit exchanged for an expertly tailored suit. But it was his eyes that caught Liam's attention - sharp as ever, yet holding an air of uncertainty that made his instincts flare in warning.

The changes in Thorne were subtle but unmistakable. His arrogance remained, but the manic edge that had characterized his final days of freedom had faded. He carried himself differently, more like the brother Liam remembered from their early training days than the masked figure who had nearly torn reality apart.

"All rise," the bailiff announced. Judge Harrison entered, her robes settling around her like gathered shadows. She'd presided over enough SPD-adjacent cases to know when to avoid asking certain questions. Her gaze swept the courtroom, lingering briefly on the reinforced windows - another of the division's careful preparations.

The prosecutor rose, her opening statement crafted to navigate the narrow space between truth and security. "The evidence will show that Marcus Thorne orchestrated a campaign of calculated destruction across our city, using methods that pushed the boundaries of known science. Through careful planning and manipulation of both technology and human resources, he created a climate of fear that affected thousands of innocent lives..."

Liam caught Elena's slight flinch at the sanitized language. If the jury only knew how far beyond "known science" Thorne's actions had reached. The tear between worlds, the ancient hungers Nikolai had warned them about - none of it could be captured in criminal statute. He glanced at Zoe, seeing his own frustration reflected in her expression as she documented the proceedings in her neat handwriting.

Thorne's attorney stood, and Liam recognized his brother's expression - the same look he'd worn before their most intensive training sessions. Whatever game he was playing extended far beyond this courtroom.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the defense began, "you'll hear much about destruction and terror. But context matters. The prosecution's narrative omits crucial details about my client's state of mind, about the genuine remorse he has shown since his voluntary surrender. Evidence will show that Marcus Thorne is not the same man who committed these acts..."

Elena's hand brushed Liam's arm, a warning to maintain composure. They'd prepared for this - for Thorne using the trial itself as another move in his larger strategy. But preparation felt hollow against the reality of seeing him again, against the pendant's inexplicable response to his presence.

The morning proceeded through careful testimony about structural damage and evacuation protocols. Each witness had been thoroughly coached, their statements stripped of any hint of the supernatural. Yet beneath the procedural veneer, Liam felt currents of power moving through the courtroom like invisible tides.

During the first recess, he found himself in the courthouse's west corridor, trying to shake the feeling that something fundamental had shifted. The pendant's warmth had faded, but its response to Thorne's presence nagged at his thoughts.

"He's planning something," Elena said, appearing beside him with coffee neither would touch. "The way he watched during the Liberty testimony..."

"He knows about the ritual," Liam kept his voice low. "Whatever pushed back against us in your basement - I think he felt it too."

Elena's expression hardened. "Through the suppression fields?"

"Since when have normal rules applied to any of this?" The words came out sharper than intended. He glanced away, watching sunlight scatter across marble floors. "Sorry. It's just..."

"I know." Her tone softened slightly. "But we need to maintain focus. Whatever he's planning..."

She broke off as Zoe approached, her academy notebook replaced by one of the ancient texts they'd salvaged from the Arcanum. "You need to see this," she said quietly, opening to a marked page. "I've been comparing the courtroom's suppression field to historical examples. The frequency's all wrong for containing old magic - the kind Thorne was working with before his arrest."

Liam studied the diagrams she indicated, recognition dawning. "Because they designed it for standard magical constraints, not..."

"Not the kind of power that comes from corrupted magic," Zoe finished. Her voice held none of the hesitation that had marked her early days of magical study. "I think he's known about this weakness since they brought him in."

The implications settled heavily as they returned to the courtroom. Thorne sat perfectly still, yet something about his posture reminded Liam of a coiled spring. Their eyes met briefly, and for a moment, Liam saw past the calculated mask to something almost like concern.

When the prosecution called their first major witness - a survivor of the Arcanum's destruction - Thorne's composure shifted subtly. His attention focused on the witness with an intensity that made the pendant warm against Liam's chest. As the testimony proceeded, carefully dancing around any mention of magical texts or supernatural phenomena, Liam noticed his brother's hands moving slightly. The motions were too precise to be random.

"Elena," he whispered, causing her to look up from her notes. "His hands. He's using Seeker signs."

They watched as Thorne's fingers traced patterns only a trained eye would recognize. The same ancient language Nikolai had used in his hospital room, trying to warn them about what stirred in the spaces between worlds.

The trial would continue, bound by laws that couldn't begin to comprehend what they faced. But as Judge Harrison called the court back to order, one thing became clear - this was merely the opening move in a much larger game.