Volition

Prologue

The courtroom was cold, sterile, and unfeeling. Ynna Monterde sat on the hard wooden bench, her back straight and her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The past year had been a blur of lawyers, hearings, and sterile rooms like this one. She had lost count of how many times she had been forced to recount the night she killed her father, how many times she had felt the eyes of the court on her, judging her every word, every emotion.

But today was different. At least, that is what her lawyer said.

Ynna's lawyer, a weary-looking woman with dark circles under her eyes, sat next to her, flipping through a thick stack of papers. Ynna could hear the low murmur of voices outside the courtroom, the occasional clatter of footsteps echoing through the halls. She glanced around the room, taking in the faded, peeling wallpaper and the flickering fluorescent lights. It was a room designed to make people feel small, insignificant.

"Janelle Monterde," the judge began, and Ynna flinched inwardly. She hated that name, hated how it tied her to the girl who had been a victim, the girl who had been too scared to speak up until it was too late. She preferred Ynna, the name she had chosen for herself, a symbol of the new identity she was trying to forge from the ashes of her old life.

"Please rise," the bailiff instructed, and Ynna stood, feeling the weight of sets of eyes on her. The judge was a middle-aged man with thinning gray hair and a stern expression. He looked down at her over his glasses, his eyes cold and impassive.

"It's been a year since the incident," the judge continued, his voice echoing slightly in the empty room. "You've spent that time in the retribution center for children in conflict with the law. Your behavior has been... adequate."

Ynna swallowed hard. Adequate. She supposed that was the best she could hope for under the circumstances. She had kept her head down, followed the rules, and tried to stay out of trouble. But adequate was not enough to erase the past or the pain that came with it.

"Janelle," he continued, and Ynna cringed inwardly. "Today marks your eighteenth birthday. It also marks a significant change in your case. You have spent the past year in the retribution center for children in conflict with the law. However, now that you are legally an adult, it is necessary to transfer you to a new facility."

Ynna's heart pounded in her chest. She had known this was coming, but hearing it spoken aloud made it feel all the more real.

"The facility you will be transferred to is called the House of Hope," the judge continued. Ynna suppressed a bitter laugh at the name. House of Hope. It sounded like a bad joke. She imagined a place no different from the retribution center—cold, unwelcoming, and full of broken people. The idea of hope seemed so distant, so unreachable. The name felt like an insult, a mockery of the bleak reality she faced.

"House of Hope is a detention center for individuals who have turned eighteen but are still considered children in conflict with the law," the judge explained. "It is still designed to help you reintegrate into society, to give you the skills and support you need to build a better future."

Ynna bit her tongue, holding back the urge to retort. The word "rehabilitation" made her feel sick. The judge spoke as if her life could be neatly packaged into terms like "rehabilitation" and "conflict with the law," ignoring the years of abuse, the nights spent crying herself to sleep, and the moment she had finally snapped.

The judge continued to speak, his words blurring together in Ynna's mind. She forced herself to focus, catching bits and pieces about the transfer process and the rules of the new facility. It all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.

"Do you understand, Janelle?" the judge asked, and Ynna nodded numbly. She just wanted this to be over. She felt no optimism at his words and she knew better than to expect miracles.

The judge's expression softened slightly, and Ynna wondered if it was genuine concern or just another act. "Janelle, you have been given a second chance. Use it wisely. The choices you make from now on will determine your future."

A second chance. Ynna had heard those words before, from well-meaning social workers and counselors who did not understand what it was like to carry the weight of her past. But she nodded again, knowing it was the expected response.

The judge reached under his bench and pulled out a small box. Ynna's confusion deepened as he opened it to reveal a single cupcake with a candle in it. He lit the candle and pushed the box toward her.

"Happy birthday, Janelle."

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Happy birthday. She had not thought about celebrating her birthday, and had not wanted to. It was just another reminder of how much had changed, how much she had lost. But she forced a polite smile and nodded, even though the last thing she felt like doing was commemorating this day.

"Thank you," she said quietly, eyes falling.

The judge looked at her with an expression that seemed to carry the weight of his years of experience. "Remember, the road ahead will not be easy. But sometimes, it's the hardest paths that lead to the most worthwhile destinations. Hold on to hope, even when it seems impossible."

Her lawyer turned to her, giving her a small smile. "You did well today, Ynna."

Ynna nodded again, though the words felt hollow. She glanced at the cupcake, the small flame flickering in the dim courtroom light. A second chance. She was not sure if she believed in it, but she knew she had to try. She owed that much to herself, to the girl she had been, and to the woman she wanted to become.

As she stood to leave, the judge's words echoed in her mind. The hardest paths. She had already been through so much, faced so many challenges. But maybe, just maybe, there was a glimmer of truth in his words. Maybe, there was still a sliver of hope to hold on to.

Ynna walked out of the courtroom, the cupcake box in her hands, the candle still burning. She did not blow it out. She let it flicker and glow.