“I won’t trap you. It’s not what I want.”

I shake my head to clear it. She’s been talking again. “How far?” My voice is foreign.

“Four months.”

“Four months.” I push both hands into my hair and pull, stumbling into the wall and wincing when my back hits it. I sink to the floor, draw my knees up and hang my head. Four months. She’s four months pregnant with my baby.

“Judge?” She walks cautiously over and kneels at my side. “You’re bleeding.”

I look at her, see where her eyes move to my shoulder. See the patch of red spreading over my shirt. One of my wounds must have reopened during our struggle.

“What is this?” she asks, touching her fingers to my side, seeing them come away red.

And all I can do is look at her swollen stomach as she kneels there. My baby in her belly. Jesus. What have I done?

“Judge, you’re really bleeding badly.”

“It’s fine,” I croak out. I push her hand away and stand. “You need to get dressed.” I walk ahead of her into the bedroom and open the closet but don’t find anything that belongs to her that I know of.

“Your back!”

I draw in a breath and turn to her. “It’s fine. Where are your clothes?”

“It’s not fine. Let me look.”

“For once, do as I say! Where are your fucking clothes?”

She points at a shopping bag on a chair. I cross the room and take out a long, flowing dress. Now I understand why she stopped wearing her form-fitting clothes. When I take it to her, I can’t help my gaze from dropping to her stomach one more time before I pull it over her head.

“Shoes.”

She looks around, locates them, and slips them on. A pair of ballerina flats I haven’t seen before.

“Let’s go.” I take her arm and turn her.

“No.” She digs her heels in. “Not until you tell me what happened to you.”

I search her face, her worried eyes. I can see the protrusion of her belly in the dress now, but only because I know. You wouldn’t notice she was pregnant if you didn’t know it in these clothes she’s been wearing.

“Judge. Please tell me.” She reaches a hand to touch my face.

I wince and she pulls away, an expression of hurt on her face.

“You don’t have to be afraid of The Tribunal. They won’t come after you.”

“What?”

“They can’t anymore.”

“What did you do?” she asks, her voice trembling. A tear slides down one cheek because she knows what I did. What they did. She knows the ways of The Tribunal.

“I did what I had to. We need to go. Now. I need to think.”

“Show me.”