Ryan

I was a newly licensed lawyer—a rookie. That’s exactly why If I had known what this case would do to me, I would have walked away. I would have ignored the tears in his sister’s eyes. I would have shaken my head, politely refused, and gone home to eat my microwave dinner in peace. I would have spared myself the sleepless nights, the anxiety, the constant questioning of my own instincts. But I didn’t walk away. I took the case. I let my conscience—or maybe my foolishness—convince me that this was the right thing to do. And then I met him. Ryan. A man accused of murder. A man who refused to defend himself. A man who, despite everything, made my pulse race in ways it had no business doing. The real problem, though, wasn’t the case itself. It was my client. A stubborn, arrogant man. He wouldn’t cooperate at all. He neither denied nor confirmed anything. I wish I hadn’t taken this case. Not just because I wasn’t ready for it. But because I wasn’t ready for him. Setting The holding cell was colder than I expected. Not just in temperature, but in feeling—like the walls themselves had absorbed every desperate plea, every broken promise, every last shred of hope. Ryan didn’t look like a man desperate for anything. He sat on the bench, wrists resting lazily on his knees, his head tilted back against the wall. The dim overhead light cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look both exhausted and completely unfazed by the fact that he was sitting in a jail cell for murder. For a long moment, he didn’t acknowledge me. Then, finally, he spoke.