The courtroom smelled of polished wood, stale coffee, and tension. Adrian Vale adjusted his tie and glanced at the judge a man whose gavel was known to be more expensive than most people's cars.
Across the room, Marcus Draven smiled, his presence commanding even the air. The case was simple: an innocent man accused of murder. Evidence stacked in his favor. Witnesses were reliable. But as Adrian prepared his final argument, he knew the verdict was already decided.
"Not guilty," the judge said, without looking at the defendant.
Gasps echoed. Shock froze Adrian.
Outside, rain pattered on the pavement as he clenched his fists.
"The law is meant to protect the weak," his father's voice whispered in his memory, "but men twist it for power."
Then, a sensation burned through his wrist. A golden symbol flared like a warning. Adrian didn't understand but he felt it: the lies surrounding this court were tangible, almost alive.
Somewhere, deep in the city, a criminal screamed… and Adrian realized: the real trial was only beginning.