The judge leaned a hair toward the Clerk. "Prepare the order," he said. "Narrow relief as stated. TRO effective upon signature. under seal for the relation sentence. no harassment of clerks signage per department. Show cause in seven days."
"Yes, Your Honor," the Clerk said, already moving. Paper behaved. The Reporter marked the sealed span with the little lever; the Recorder's wheels purred like a cat made of law.
Aisha stayed in our corner of the table, posture like a metronome. The PIO typed three lines with the economy of public servants at midnight:
no harassment of clerks signage
incident number logging at windows
window graphic for lobbies
Rita slid a slim cover sheet across the open packet for the press copy. It was our square, scaled for bus stops. window in the top left like a shield. She didn't smile. She did align the staples.
The Clerk returned with three sets. "Order," she said. "Original to file, copies to counsel and department." She set one in front of the judge with a pen that knew nights like this.
The judge read the paragraph with teeth, then the paragraph with manners. He signed with a date that belongs to calendars and to arguments that lose steam in the morning. The stamp went down twice. The sound was small and royal.
"For the record," he said, "movants are permitted to make a Public Record Statement if they wish. The court endorses the six words. The sealed portion remains sealed."
"Thank you, Your Honor," Aisha said.
The Clerk slid a copy to PIO. "Signage at eight," PIO said. "Rope stanchions will arrive at seven thirty. We'll brief deputies at shift change."
A rectangle on the cart screen flashed and then became a message instead of a face. Board Counsel. Aisha opened, eyes already set. The text tried to be tall.
'Your ex parte order interferes with editorial discretion. We will proceed with a values conversation tomorrow.'
Aisha attached a scan with more calm than most people have for coffee. Court order attached. TRO enjoins couch and any on-air 'clarify' condition. Any breach will meet notice and a contempt motion. Consider the word commentary your new friend.
She cc'ed Standards. Standards replied with the enthusiasm of a policy that got a holiday: We will place window plates on any mention. Accessibility updated.
Vivian chimed in from wherever bus stops live. Governance: hold pending process per court. Chair wrote the word 'compliance' and then took it back. I took a picture anyway.
The judge stood, which in rooms like this means you are done. "Good night," he said, and made it sound like an order and a blessing.
We filed out behind the Clerk. The hallway made that old courthouse hiss as it receives footsteps like rain. Security led us to a little slot in a wall with a metal mouth; the Clerk fed it the original. "Filed," she said. "You exist in here now."
Aisha's square kept pace on the cart. "Public Record Statement minimal," she said. "One sentence. under seal holds. No Q&A. No 'mutual' traps. If someone says 'secret,' you say commentary and move."
"Copy," Rita said.
Boone looked ahead the way wolves read wind. "Flashes," he said. "Two stringers on the steps. One tabloid on the planter. credential."
"Wind is lazy," Victor said, appreciative. "I can make coats look like competence."
In the night foyer the door commissioners had let the lights be low enough to forgive people. Outside, the steps smelled like sandstone and a weeknight.
Two cameras lifted like birds, cautious and hungry. The tabloid guy had the posture of a man who learned his ethics from autoplays. He slid left to intercept, his phone's red circle already rehearsing.
"credential," Boone said, arm half-out, palm polite. The two stringers lifted city laminates; the tabloid lifted a grin. The grin bounced off the brass plate on the door that says Courthouse and not Mall.
PIO stood on the top step like a small lighthouse. "Court has issued a TRO," she said, voice carrying without shouting. "Labels conditioned on coerced 'clarify' are restrained. couch setups are restrained. no harassment of clerks signage will be posted at eight. There will be no questions. Copies are at Records tomorrow. Good night."
She handed one press copy to a stringer and one to the other with the same motion you use to hand someone a towel at a pool - not a favor, not an apology, an act of hygiene. Rita attached our window cover sheet to a third and slid it into the hands of the guard so it would live in sunlight in the morning.
From the sidewalk, the host's fedora tipped in the glow by a hydrant. He didn't approach. He lifted two fingers and called without eating our oxygen. "Six words for the tape," he offered. "If you want them."
Rita nodded once. "One sentence," she murmured to us. "Then we walk."
The tally-light on nobody's camera went red anyway - the mechanical hunger of devices pretending to be doors. I felt Evan's shoulder enter that familiar geometry next to mine; hands visible found each other's neighborhood without touching.
I faced the top step. "Process note," I said, so the steps and the brass and the bus stop in my head could hear it. "A court has entered a TRO. We'll speak when there is consent on record. Until then, window has the facts."
Evan added the only thing he could add without disobeying the room. "Seal, date, docket - or no story," he said, giving the six words back to the city like exact change.
We turned toward the side ramp. The tabloid man slid like a bad idea. "Congrats on the secret wedding," he said, shine on the word like a stain.
"commentary," Aisha said through the cart speaker, crisp as a hinge. "Any breach of under seal invites contempt."
The man didn't hear because phones have made some people deaf. He lifted his screen higher - a blurry square that could be anything when you want it too much. Boone stepped between his lens and our path with a shape that said this is a human corridor.
Victor drifted wind into our coats so the footage would look more like order than exit. The two stringers decided to love their pensions more than a headline. They stayed on the top step and filmed the door handle because even doors deserve their minutes.
We reached the car's dark animal. Boone opened my side without ceremony and then stepped back so distance could still exist if I wanted it. I wanted exit. I also wanted us not to become nouns again.
Rita's phone purred. Vivian: Brand filed an emergency stay in appellate - fifteen pages and three adjectives. Clerk says 45-minute window for responses. They want to 'un-TRO' the couch by breakfast.
Aisha's rectangle sharpened. I'm on it. I'll file an opposition with six nouns and a bus stop. You two go home. Do not speak. I'll call if I need a one-line declaration.
The floor manager - somehow always everywhere when decency is required - sent a short line from some doorframe in the city. Cameras repositioning to your block. I can give the host six words at dawn if needed.
Boone scanned the street, then us. "We leave now," he said, low.
A cruiser at the corner rotated its light bar once - not siren, not show - and a blue thread ran across our hood like a vein.
The night held its breath again.