CHAPTER 14: Testimony in a Fallen Cap

The hearing was recessed, but nobody left.
People stayed because their fear had been asked to wait for years, and now it had finally been called by name. They spoke into recorders. They signed statements. They pointed at maps. They corrected dates on notices the city had hoped would remain confusing forever.
Holt's cap sat on the evidence table inside a clear bag because the camera angle showed when it fell, where he stood, and how close his hand came to Elara's shoulder.
It looked smaller in plastic.
Most symbols do, once the room stops worshipping them.
Elara sat again only after Peter Alvarez's daughter brought her a paper cup of water. This time, the empty chairs around her did not remain empty.
Neighbors filled them. The clerk sat beside her during her break. Even one of the junior city attorneys approached and placed a thumb drive on the rail without speaking.
Elara looked at the growing pile and felt no victory yet.
Victory was too easy a word for what it cost people to stop being afraid.
But it was a beginning.