TTookir inside Courtroom 4B smelled of old paper, damp wool, and the static bite of an overworked air-conditioning unit. It was the kind of cold that seeped through fabric, settling deep into the marrow.
I sat near the end of the second row of benches, my hands jammed between my thighs in a desperate, subconscious bid to stop the trembling. My knees were locked tight. Beneath the heavy cotton of my trousers, my skin was clammy, a nervous sweat pricking against my spine every time the dcorrectt the back of the room swung open.
