“Yvie, I don’t care whether you really have issues or you’ve been wronged. I’m giving you three days. If you haven’t moved out after three days, I’ll have someone throw all your things onto the street.”

Then, she hung up with a sharp click.

The holding cell fell back into silence.

Officer Wright’s face carried an undisguised trace of satisfaction. “Did you hear that? Feels bad being abandoned by everyone, doesn’t it?”

He nodded toward his subordinates. “Take her away.”

I was escorted down the long corridor. This time, no one whispered anymore. Their stares were colder than insults. It was like they were looking at something already condemned.

I was pushed into a police car, heading to the city detention center. There, I would wait for what they called 'trial'.

Outside the window, the noise of the city slowly faded. I leaned against the cold metal interior, feeling the vibration of the vehicle. Despair surged in like a tide from all directions, slowly, steadily, swallowing everything.

Then, a calm, professional female voice sounded in my ear. “Ms. Lane, this is Grace Quinn from the Municipal Legal Aid Center. I’ve been assigned as your attorney. Your case is now under my responsibility.”

I was slightly startled.

Legal aid? I never applied for it.

“It was requested by the police, in accordance with the law.”

It was as though she anticipated my question. Her tone remained steady.

“Under the regulations, your case requires legal representation.”

I understood.

Procedure. It was just a procedure.

The lawyer named Grace was probably just like the others. She was already convinced I was guilty. Her job was simply to make everything look more 'lawful'.

“I have nothing to say.” My voice came out dry. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

A brief silence followed.

I expected her to begin pressuring me into a confession like Officer Wright. Yet she did not. Her tone remained precise, controlled.

“I’ve reviewed the information provided by the police. A pair of binoculars and a camera containing explicit photos were recovered at the scene. The victim’s statement is detailed, and multiple neighbors have given unfavorable testimony.

“Based on the current evidence, the case is heavily against you.”

Every word was calm and almost clinical yet completely devoid of emotion.

“If you insist on pleading not guilty, once the case proceeds to trial and the evidence is admitted, your sentence will only be heavier.”

I closed my eyes. The hollow sockets felt dry and empty. “So you’re here to tell me to confess too?”

“No.” Her answer was immediate. “I am your defense attorney. My duty is to protect your legal rights, not to decide guilt for either side.”

She paused for a moment. Then, her tone deepened and sounded more focused. “Now, I need you to answer a few questions truthfully. First, are the binoculars and camera yours?”

“No.”

“Second, do you know Curtis Lowe? Have you had any contact with him?”

“No. I don’t know him.”

“Third…” She paused for a fraction of a second. “Other than vision, do your hearing or tactile senses show any abnormal enhancement?”

That question made something in me tighten. She was the first person to notice that.

“Yes.”

There was a brief silence on the other end.

Then, “Good.” It was just one word from her. However, her tone had shifted ever so slightly. It was as though something crucial had just been confirmed.

“Ms. Lane, the police will transfer you to the detention center within 30 minutes. Before that, they will ask you to sign some documents.”

Grace's voice turned colder and more precise. “Do not sign anything. Wait for me to arrive.”

The call ended.

I held the phone in my hand. My cold palm was, unexpectedly, slightly damp with sweat. There was hope. For the first time since falling into this dark pit, I felt hope—even if it was as faint as a flame in the wind.

The police car soon stopped. I was taken into an office.

Officer Wright slammed a document down in front of me. “Sign it.”

I shook my head. “I won’t sign anything until my lawyer arrives.”

His expression darkened instantly. “Lawyer? Can you afford a lawyer?”

He let out a cold laugh. “I’m telling you, it’s useless! No one can save you!”

He grabbed my hand, trying to force it onto the ink pad.

It was at that moment, a calm female voice came from the doorway. "Stop."

It was not loud, but it was heavy with authority. The movement in the room froze instantly.

The sound of high heels clicked clearly against the floor. A woman walked in, dressed in a professional suit. She moved with decisive steps. Her presence was sharp and cutting. Her gaze swept the room, and her brows were slightly furrowed.

“I'm Grace Quinn, defense attorney for Ms. Lane. Your attempt to force my client to sign documents after she explicitly refused is a violation of the law.”

She placed a file and her bar license on the table. Her movements were clean and precise.

“I was assigned by the Municipal Legal Aid Center. Here is my authorization and credentials.” She looked up. Her tone was calm but unyielding. “Now, I demand a private consultation with my client.”

Officer Wright’s expression turned ugly. He picked up the documents, flipping through them repeatedly, as though he was searching for a flaw. However, he found none.

Grace’s paperwork was complete, compliant, and airtight.

“Tsk… Legal aid…” he muttered in disdain but ultimately did not dare object further. “Ten minutes.”

With a dark expression on his face, he led the others out, leaving the room to us. The door closed. There was only Grace and me in the room.

The sound of high heels striking the floor was clear and steady, drawing closer with each step. Then, they stopped in front of me. A faint, cool scent of paper and ink drifted into my breath.

“Ms. Yvie Lane.” Her voice came out calm, measured, and controlled. “In your phone call earlier, you mentioned your hearing is unusually sensitive. Can you elaborate?”

I did not expect that to be her first question. Still, I did not hesitate. “After I went blind, my other senses, especially hearing and touch, became significantly sharper. I can judge a person’s build, habits, and even emotional state by the rhythm and weight of their footsteps.”

I paused for a moment. “And I can pick up details most people miss.”

Grace did not interrupt. She simply listened quietly. Then, she asked the key question. “Did you notice anything unusual from the apartment across from you?”

My heart tightened slightly. “Yes.”

I lowered my voice. “Curtis doesn’t live alone.”

Grace kept silent.

I continued, “Before he called the police, I heard it at least three times late at night. There were two sets of footsteps in his house.”

“Curtis walks lightly but deliberately uses more force in his steps, like he's trying to hide something. The other person’s footsteps are extremely light, almost silent. But there's one clear detail…”

My voice slowed. “The other person's left foot lands slightly heavier, and the right is lighter—like an old injury causing uneven weight distribution. It's a male with a light build. He moves carefully and cautiously.”

These were details I had never spoken aloud. It was because they would sound like nothing more than the imagination of a blind woman to the others.

However, Grace did not interrupt me. Even her breathing did not change noticeably.

“Anything else?” she asked.

“Yes.”

I nodded.

“He was searching for something. I heard furniture being lightly moved and the sound of fabric brushing inside a closet. It wasn’t random. It was a deliberate search.”

I paused for a moment, then said the most important part, “And on the day Curtis called the police, his heartbeat was off. It was much faster than usual, but the rhythm was steady. It wasn't fear.”

I slowly let the words out, “It was excitement, like the reaction after a plan succeeds.”

Silence settled in the room. There was no skepticism and no interruption. There was only Grace’s steady breathing.

After a few seconds, she finally said, “I understand.”

Her tone remained calm, but it carried a firmer sense of confirmation now.

“You may still need to stay in detention for a while. Don’t get into conflicts with anyone. Keep a low profile. Protect yourself.”

She paused briefly. “Leave the rest to me.”

Her high heels clicked again. The door opened, then closed. Just like that, she was gone.

Officer Wright returned soon after. His voice dripped with sarcasm. “What? Your savior left already? I told you, stop dreaming. A legal aid lawyer doesn’t have that much power.

“Time’s up. Take her away!”

I was escorted out again. Yet this time, the darkness inside me was no longer completely stifling.

Grace Quinn… The name fell into me like a stone into water, rippling outward for the first time. She was the first person who truly listened to the things I heard. That was enough.

…

Life in detention was worse than I expected. I was placed in a shared cell with eight people.

The labels of 'voyeur' and 'pervert' had already spread before I even arrived. I became the target of everyone.

My food was knocked over. Cold water was poured on me while I slept. My cane was hidden.

However, I did not fight back. I did not ask for help either. In a place like this, resistance only brought worse retaliation.

I used my hearing to avoid the most dangerous people. I used silence to make myself seem 'non-threatening'. I was like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake, waiting.

…

On the fifth day, she came.

In the visitation room, separated by thick glass, I heard her. Her breathing was slightly uneven from fatigue due to long hours of work.

However, her voice was still sharp.

“Yvie, I’ve found something.”

There was no greeting. She went straight to the point.

“The tenant registration for the apartment across from you…” She paused for a moment and lowered her tone slightly. “It's not Curtis.”

My heart tightened sharply. “Not Curtis? Then who?"