Ezra was brought into the courtroom, which resembled a grand throne room within the facility. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air heavy with anticipation. As he walked in, his wrists bound in tattoo-made restraints, he felt the weight of many eyes on him. The room was large, adorned with dark tapestries and intricate carvings. At the far end, a raised dais held an imposing throne.
Target stood beside Ezra, a smug expression on his face. "It's not too late to reconsider, Ezra," he whispered. "You can still save yourself by giving up a piece of the gang."
Ezra remained stoic, his expression unreadable. He said nothing, his silence a clear refusal. He wouldn't betray his family, not for anything.
