DARK PATHS OF REDEMPTION

The Trial

The rain hadn’t stopped for three days.

It poured over the city like a slow funeral march, sliding down the tall courthouse windows in streaks of gray. Outside, umbrellas moved like insects along the steps. Inside, the air was heavy, charged with the kind of silence that falls right before lightning strikes.

At the defendant’s table sat Ethan Carter, twenty years old, hands cuffed in front of him. His wrists bore the red dents of restraint. His eyes — once green and full of light — were now dull, bruised by sleepless nights and betrayal deeper than bone.

Across from him, Madison Lane sat stiffly, face unreadable. Her long blond hair was perfectly brushed, her blouse wrinkle-free — as though she were at a job interview, not testifying in a murder trial.

To her left sat Logan Myers, legs crossed, smiling slightly. As if the trial were beneath him. As if he had already moved on.

Jason Reed wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone. He kept his head down, hands folded tight in his lap, his foot bouncing under the table.

Dylan Brooks sat furthest from the rest, stone-faced. But Ethan saw the twitch in his jaw. The silent war inside him.

They were once inseparable. Five shadows always cast together — partying, studying, surviving college life.

And now, here they were.

Four of them condemning the fifth.

The courtroom doors creaked open as the judge entered. A man in his late sixties, sharp eyes behind old glasses, worn down by decades of disappointment.

“All rise.”

The jury was already seated. Twelve faces Ethan hadn’t looked at once since the trial began. It didn’t matter. Their minds had been made up long before the opening statement.

The defense barely tried.

No witness. No testimony. Ethan had refused to speak.

“Why won’t you fight back?” his lawyer had begged him just the day before. “They’re railroading you.”

But Ethan knew the truth wouldn’t save him. Not when they had already decided to survive by turning on him. If he screamed, it would sound like guilt. If he cried, it would smell like blood.

So he remained silent.

The judge’s voice broke through the courtroom like a final nail in a coffin.

“Ethan Carter, you are hereby sentenced to ten years in state prison for the murder of Benjamin Walker.”

Thunder cracked somewhere far beyond the stone walls.

No one spoke. No one wept.

Ethan turned his head — slowly, deliberately — and looked at his former friends.

And they looked away.

All except one.

Madison met his gaze. Just for a second. Just long enough to see the question buried in his eyes:

Why?

She blinked, and then turned her head, lips tight. The kind of guilt that looks too much like pride.

Outside the courthouse, Logan lit a cigarette and joked with a local news crew.

“I always said that kid was off,” he laughed, hands shoved in his pockets. “You never really know someone, do you?”

Dylan leaned against a railing and wept quietly into his hands.

Jason walked straight down the steps without speaking a word.

And Madison?

She watched the prison van pull away through the fogged-up window of her parked car. The lights blurred in the rain. She started the engine, hands trembling, and whispered under her breath:

“He’ll never come back.”

But deep down, she wasn’t sure if that was hope…

or fear.

Inside the prison van, Ethan sat in silence, staring forward.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t rage.

But he remembered everything.

The circle. The blood. The silence of the night Ben Walker died.

And most of all…

The way they had turned on him like wolves sensing weakness.

He closed his eyes, letting the rain’s rhythm pound through the steel roof.

Ten years.

Ten years later, that curse would come collecting.