"Klea!!"
The word tore from Emery's throat before he could restrain it.
For a brief, terrifying moment, it felt as though his heart had stopped entirely.
Atlas carried her down the central aisle of the tribunal hall, one arm supporting her back, the other steadying her frail body as if she weighed nothing. Klea's skin had lost its color; her lips were pale, her movements slow and fragile, like someone walking at the edge of collapse.
The guards moved instinctively to intercept them, but the judge raised a note of authority.
"Let her approach."
Atlas reached the front of the hall and carefully helped her stand. Even then, she swayed, her fingers trembling against his sleeve.
"Your name," the judge demanded.
Her voice barely carried. "Kleopatra… of Earth…"
The judge frowned. "Lady Klea, if you wish to be heard, you must speak clearly."
The impatience in his tone was unmistakable.
