Page 97 of That Time I Accidentally Became A Serial Killer

But fine.

This wasn’t about me. This was about the case.

About doing the right thing.

And if the price of justice was enduring one more of Judge Maxwell’s tight-lipped stares and possibly being told my handwriting was too youthful, then so be it.

I knocked politely on the doorframe to her open chambers.

She looked up like she’d smelled hope where there should only be black coffee and legal despair.

“Hartwell.”

I stepped inside, folders in hand, back straight. “Your Honor. I need your signature on a warrant request. The information’s been emailed to your clerk and includes supporting documentation.”

Her expression didn’t shift. If anything, she blinked slower.

“Detective Blackwood isn’t handling this personally?”

“He’s leading the investigation,” I replied evenly. “But he’s currently chasing down the next suspect, and this signature is time sensitive. I was asked to help expedite.”

She motioned toward the chair across from her desk like it offended her. I sat. Composed and calm. Like I hadn’t been dreaming about ceiling-vent intruders all night.

Judge Maxwell took her time.

Reading every line.

Then rereading it.

And then making a sound in her throat like a dissatisfied owl.

I waited.

Breathed.

Smiled just enough to be polite without accidentally triggering her fight-or-eye-roll reflex.

After approximately seventeen years, she signed.

One sharp, no-nonsense scribble.

I slid the folder into my bag and stood. “Thank you, Your Honor.”

She didn’t look up, already back to something even duller than me.

“No one makes me work harder for a pen stroke than you.”

Still nothing. Maybe a twitch. Possibly the faintest hint of satisfaction.

Progress?

Probably not but—I have the warrant.

I’ve never felt more legit in my life.

Black leggings, fresh black tennis shoes, a high pony tucked through the back of a black baseball cap, and—yes—my favorite hot pink crop top. Just because we’re storming a crime scene doesn’t mean I have to dress like disappointment.

I even remembered to bring my real blazer and court heels in a duffel in case we had to spin back to the courthouse after.

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