This was the first time Arzhen Vasiliev attended court proceedings personally.
The hearing that day had been unremarkable by the standards of the case. Another round of preliminary motions, another exchange of arguments about discovery scope and expert witness qualifications and the precise definition of "public safety technology" under the Hunter Protection Act.
Judge Venn had presided, overruling three of Arzhen's side's objections in the span of ten minutes and issuing a stern warning about dilatory tactics that had made his legal team shift uncomfortably in their seats.
The gallery had been half-empty. The stenographer had typed steadily through it all, her expression blank, her fingers flying across the keys.
But Arzhen had been there. He had sat at the defendant's table with his hands folded on the polished wood, his tiger ears still, his golden eyes fixed on some middle distance that was neither the judge nor the lawyers.
