Chapter 19: The Shape of Justice
The courthouse was a graveyard now. No more chanting, no more reporters. Just silence—and the cold wind brushing through Norwegick's hollow pride. Judge Ramsey's ledger had done what it was supposed to: sent shockwaves through the town. The headlines screamed "Justice For Sale!", and the courthouse doors had been chained shut by morning. Another one down. Another pillar crumbled. But the hum in my chest didn't celebrate. It was quieter now. Almost… watching.
I sat on the roof of the abandoned middle school, feet dangling over the edge, flipping through Dad's notebook again. So many names. So many lies. Ramsey's was just one in a long chain of rot. And I'd snapped it. But now what?
Ramsey had gone underground—disgraced, hunted by both sides. Protesters wanted his head. The crooks he'd served wanted him silenced. Me? I didn't care where he ran. I'd already taken what mattered: his reputation. His mask.
But justice? Real justice?
That was trickier.
Norwegick hadn't been saved. Just rattled. One evil exposed didn't fix the system—it just made the rest squirm. I watched a cop drag a protester by the arm across the street, her sign reading "FAIR TRIALS FOR ALL" left in the gutter. That wasn't justice. That was theater.
I wasn't just fighting men anymore—I was fighting the shape of justice itself. Twisted, crooked, and too slippery to hold in my hands.
Back home, Mom had finally found the cash. She was shaking, sitting at the kitchen table with tears in her eyes.
"Where did this come from?" she whispered, clutching the envelope like it might bite her.
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
How do you explain blood money to a woman who still believes the world runs on good people?
So I left before sunrise.
Now, I stared down at Norwegick from my perch like a shadow queen. I wasn't done. Not by a long shot. But the lines were starting to blur. Vengeance had always been my blade—but now I wondered if justice needed a different weapon.
I wasn't chasing revenge anymore.
Not really.
I just wanted out.
Out of this cursed town. Out of this cycle of rot. I'd worked so damn hard for a way out—and now my only real shot, the scholarship, was gone. Burned with the bridge I blew up.
God. What do I do now?
I hope Norwegick doesn't find another way to trespass me. I've already given it everything—blood, secrets, justice.
I leaned back against the rusted roof, watching smoke rise from somewhere downtown.
"Guess I'm still here," I muttered.
For now.