Page 28 of The Rules
Joshua walks a half-step ahead, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders relaxed. A group of teenagers pass them on scooters, laughing too loud; a dog barks from a balcony above.
They pause at a crosswalk, waiting for the signal. Neither of them speaks. Katherine watches the traffic roll by—headlights streaking like echoes of other people’s lives.
Joshua glances sideways, then raises one hand to point at a dimly lit billboard across the street. “Is that supposed to be a flamingo?” he asks, frowning.
She squints, and for a moment, something light flickers behind her eyes. “Looks like a shrimp with issues.”
He laughs, low and easy, and it pulls her into the moment like a tide.
For once, she’s not thinking. Not calculating. Just walking. Breathing.
The signal changes. They step forward together.
For now, she lets herself drift in Joshua’s orbit, his presence easy, grounding. The streets blur past, distant and golden.
But even in that calm, a colder gaze hovers at the edge of her mind—sharp, deliberate, impossible to shake.
???
The café hums with quiet conversation, the clink of porcelain, the rich scent of roasted coffee curling in the air. Warm. Comforting. A stark contrast to the cold truths Kath has been unearthing.
She stirs her coffee absentmindedly, watching the swirling patterns in the cup. Thinking too hard. Again.
Tammy leans in, her sharp gaze scanning Kath’s expression. Always knowing too much. “You’re unusually quiet,” Tammy muses, lips twitching. “That’s either a sign ofexhaustion or you’re thinking too hard again."
Katherine exhales, her gaze still fixed on the coffee. “Can’t it be both?" Dry. Unbothered. But the weight in her voice betrays her.
Silence lingers between them, thick with unspoken things.
Then Katherine exhales. Decides to be honest.
"I've been looking into my father's case," she admits.
The words feel heavier than they should.
"And… I think something's off."
Tammy goes still, watching carefully.
"Go on."
Kath hesitates. Just for a second. Then—
"The prosecution. The evidence. It felt too clean. Like a set up."
Tammy's expression shifts—something sharper flickering behind her eyes.
"Who was the prosecutor?"
Her fingers tighten slightly around the cup. She shouldn't say it. But she does.
"Crawford." The name tastes like iron.
Tammy freezes. The smile vanishes so fast it leaves an echo. She blinks. Once. Slowly. Then: “Wait. Crawford, Crawford? Like Samuel Crawford? " Her voice is quiet now. Tense.
Like the name itself is a weapon.
Katherine nods once. The motion feels like glass in her throat.
