“Come on, Juni,” she said finally. “I want to go home.”

The courthouse doors gave way to winter air that hit like a slap. They emerged onto the steps where dirty snow had piled in grey heaps along the curb, splashed with mud and salt. The pristine white of morning had transformed into something messy and real… nothing like what it had promised to be.

A camera crew materialized, microphones thrust forward as questions flew: “What’s next now that Central…”

But both women moved past in silence, their footsteps in sync despite the rift between them. The media’s voices faded behind them, their unanswered questions echoing the uncertainty that seemed to fill every space.