"The court is dismissed!" The announcer's voice boomed, but to Cora, it sounded like it was underwater.
She stood frozen, her fingers digging into the edge of the mahogany table. The shock wasn't just a chill; it was a paralysis. Her mind, usually a whirlwind of INFJ dreams and "poetic logic," had ground to a halt. This wasn't her fault. It couldn'tbe. She and her team—Blip, Nina, and Toby—had checked and re-checked every calibration log and digital footprint until their eyes bled.
How could it have gone wrong?
She knew people called her arrogant. She knew they whispered about her "theatrics" and how she was a dreamer lost in the clouds. But she had been precise this time. She had tailored every detail of this case like a custom shroud, all to avoid the one thing she feared most: her father's cold, neutral eyes.
And yet, there he was on the bench—Judge Alaric Nightfall—the living embodiment of the "Nightfall Measure," looking at her as if she were a stranger who had failed a simple test. She hadn't just lost a case; she had disappointed the only standard that mattered.
"Cora! Cora, look at me!"
A pair of hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her with enough force to make her teeth rattle. She snapped her head toward the source.
"Yes, Bud. I'm... I'm here," she whispered, her voice cracking.
Buddy Snapjaw's face was a mask of pure, unadulterated panic. His hands were shaking so violently that the files he held were fluttering like trapped birds. "We have a bigger problem now. We're being called to the Director's office immediately. Not just us—the major higher-ups are already heading there."
"Brassbolt Boomwell?" Cora asked, the name of the Director of Prosecution tasting like ash in her mouth.
"Everyone," Buddy choked out.
They walked toward the heavy exit doors. Before stepping through, Cora stopped. She looked back at the empty courtroom one last time. Am I actually capable? she wondered. Was this all just a costume? A performance by a girl who thought she could be a Nightfall? The self-assessment was a jagged blade in her chest. She turned away, keeping her head hung low to hide the shimmer of tears she refused to let fall. Buddy was a few paces ahead, his eyes glued to his phone as his thumbs flew across the screen, likely tracking the fallout of the "Lelly Jelly" scandal.
Cora followed like a ghost, her mind only processing half of the world around her. She was so deep in the fog of her own failure that she didn't see Buddy stop abruptly at the sedan.
Thump.
She walked straight into his back, the impact sending her stumbling. She lost her footing and hit the pavement hard, while Buddy was thrown against the car door with a metallic clack.
"Cora! What was that?" Buddy groaned, rubbing his spine as he looked down at her.
"Ouch... that hurts," she muttered, staying on the ground for a second too long. The physical pain was almost a relief compared to the mental weight.
"Cora, get back to earth!" Buddy said, his voice dropping to a teary, frantic whisper as he reached down to pull her up. "We have a lot more to be disappointed about than a bruised knee. We're looking at a job loss, Cora. Total career termination."
Job loss. The word echoed in her ears, louder than the gavel. What would she do? She had climbed so high, fueled by the Tideforge ambition and the Nightfall legacy. She couldn't go back now. If she lost the IHPO, what was left for her in Iron-Haven?
She looked up at the glass towers of the city, feeling like they were finally starting to lean in and crush her.
They scrambled into the back of the sleek black sedan, the heavy door closing with a thud that felt like a final seal. The driver, a middle-aged man with kind, weathered eyes, watched them through the rearview mirror. He didn't pull away immediately; he waited for the first wave of their grief to break.
"I don't know what else to do apart from working on these cases," Buddy whispered, his voice cracking as he stared at the mountain of files on his lap. "This office is my entire life."
Cora leaned her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the greenery of Iron-Haven blur into streaks of emerald. "What am I supposed to say, Bud? I gave this everything. I was surgical. I was perfect." Her eyes glistened, the "Dark Rose" lipstick trembling as her mouth twitched. "I gave my all, and I still got a setback. Now I'm facing a job loss? A Nightfall, fired?"
"I'm sorry," Buddy sobbed, the "partner energy" he was known for dissolving into a puddle of raw anxiety. "I should have checked the tech unit logs one more time. I should have seen the Shadow Protocol coming."
"Stop it," Cora snapped, though her own tears began to track through her meticulously applied concealer. "Why are you crying? It was my lead. It was my fault, too."
The driver, who had been a silent witness to their ambition for years, adjusted his mirror. Seeing them—two brilliant prosecutors almost the age of his own children—looking so defeated made his chest tighten. It reminded him of his own kids, broken by the gears of the corporate world.
"Ms. Cora, Mr. Buddy," he intervened softly. "I hate to speak out of turn, but this situation... it was out of your hands. The people upstairs are wrong to put this kind of weight on you."
They both fell dead silent, looking up to meet his eyes in the reflection.
He pulled the car to the curb, shifting into park so he could turn and face them. "You're both still in your twenties. You have so much to learn, and yet they treat you like you should be as cold as the stone pillars of the court." He locked eyes with Cora. "My own children have sat in this back seat crying about their jobs. Our generation pledged to make this city a harmony, but it's become something so much more complex and stressful."
"But we did the work," Buddy sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "And we might be jobless by sunset."
"Hard work is never a waste, son," the driver said firmly. "Life won't keep you unhappy forever if you're true to yourself. If you did everything right, then even the stars can't stop you from getting where you're meant to be. Go face them. God doesn't give you battles you cannot fight."
Cora felt a strange, unexpected warmth bloom in her chest. It was the kind of comfort she had always craved from Alaric—the fatherly reassurance that she was more than just a "Nightfall Measure." She felt the pain of the day's loss, but the driver's words acted like a temporary bandage.
The chauffeur turned back to the wheel and merged into the midday traffic. "See, kids? Take this as a lesson. Face the music with your heads held high."
"We will," Buddy said, straightening his tie with a newfound, shaky resolve.
Soon, the familiar glass walls of the Iron-Haven Prosecutor Office loomed ahead. Outside, the city was peaceful, but Cora knew that inside, the IHPO was a storm of chaos and whispers. The knot in her stomach tightened with every passing second.
Cora stepped out of the car, her body feeling heavy, as if the courtroom gown was made of lead. She stood on the sidewalk, staring up at the building. Buddy stepped up beside her, his shadow falling next to hers.
"Are we even ready for the consequence, Corry?" Buddy asked softly.
Cora took a deep breath, tasting the salt of her tears and the sea-salt scent of her perfume. "I don't know, Bud. But like the driver said—let's just face it."
She turned and strode toward the entrance, the click of her heels sounding like a drumbeat for the war to come.
The heavy glass doors of the IHPO hissed open, and Cora and Buddy were immediately met by a wall of hushed, jagged whispers. The reception area, usually a place of professional bustle, had turned into a gallery of judgment. Every clerk and staffer looked up, their eyes darting between the two fallen prosecutors.
"They were so full of themselves; they deserve it," one whispered loud enough to carry.
"They always try to act like something they aren't," another sneered, leaning over a desk. "This one is well-deserved".
Cora felt the remarks like physical lashes. She kept her gaze fixed on the elevator buttons, her head hung low, the "Dark Rose" confidence she had worn earlier now completely shattered. Beside her, Buddy was shaking.
"They are acting like the situation was in our hands," Buddy muttered, his voice thick with disappointment and hurt.
The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open like a waiting tomb. "Let's just get inside," Cora said, ignoring his remark as she stepped into the mirrored box, unable to look at her own reflection.
The top floor was silent, the air thick with the scent of old paper and pressurized authority. When the doors opened, they were ushered into the Great Conference Room. This wasn't just a meeting; it was a tribunal.
Seated around the massive obsidian table were the pillars of Iron-Haven's government. Minister Velvet Starforge of Justice sat with her hands clasped, her expression like carved ice. Beside her was Minister Brasswind Lockmoor of Internal Affairs and Councilor Petal Crestmark of Ethics, both looking at Cora as if she were a smudge on a clean window. At the head of the table sat Chief Justice Crownwell Stormgavel, the "final word," and Chief Judgeberry Ironhart, whose face was a terrifying shade of crimson.
For what felt like an eternity, nobody spoke. The only sound was the hum of the city's ventilation and the soft tapping of pens.
"Three sessions, Prosecutor Nightfall," Minister Starforge finally spoke, her voice echoing. "Three opportunities to uphold the integrity of this office. Instead, we have a public disaster, a suppressed case, and the Lelly Jelly executives walking free".
"We were sabotaged," Buddy tried to interject, but a sharp look from Chief Ironhart silenced him instantly.
"Sabotage is a failure of security, which is a failure of the prosecution's oversight," Ironhart growled, his voice a low rumble of thunder. "You relied on theatrics while the defense relied on the law".
As the lecture continued, Cora felt herself shrinking. The higher-ups began to lean in, whispering to one another. Their personal assistants—sleek, silent figures—leaned down, whispering into the ears of the Ministers and the Chief Justice. A flurry of notes was passed.
Finally, the assistants moved toward Chief Ironhart. One leaned down, whispering a long, detailed string of instructions into his ear. Ironhart's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed as he looked at Cora. He nodded slowly, a grim, predatory smile touching his lips.
The Chief stood up abruptly, the heavy chair screeching against the floor. "The council has reached a decision. You both... to my office. Now!".
They followed him down the hall, their heads down, holding back tears that threatened to ruin the last of their composure. When they entered his office, Ironhart didn't sit. He paced the length of the room like a caged animal.
"What you have done today is unforgivable," he began, his voice shaking with suppressed rage. "The humiliation we faced under the Nightfall Measure has reached the ears of the Governor himself".
Cora bit her lip, her heart hammering against her ribs. "But Chief..."
"No buts, Ms. Nightfall!" he barked, slamming his hand onto a stack of files. "We have faced enough shame today. The higher-ups have decided they want to punish you. They want to see if you can handle the law when it isn't covered in gold leaf and velvet".
He leaned over his desk, his shadow looming over them both. "Either you can take this deal or you can leave your badges on this desk right now. Your career ends today, or you do exactly as you are told".
Cora looked at Buddy, who was deathly pale. "What is the deal?" she whispered.
Ironhart's voice turned ice-cold. "You both will be volunteering for a caretaker role at the Wildwhirl Zoo starting tomorrow! You'll be working under Director Poppy Roarwell, doing the manual labor you've clearly forgotten exists".
Cora gasped, her INFJ mind recoiling at the thought of the dirt and the chaos. "A caretaker? At the zoo?".
"Mornings here for paperwork, afternoons at the zoo," Ironhart commanded, sliding a transition file toward them. "You wanted to be a champion of the people, Cora. Now go see how they live among the animals".