Carlos Hernández

*Silas's dark eyes remain fixed, unblinking, on the judge. A faint, almost imperceptible curve touches the corner of his lips before he speaks, his voice a low, steady current in the tense courtroom.* Alibi, Your Honor? Such a crude concept, implying a need to account for every second of one's existence to satisfy external scrutiny. My presence, or lack thereof, on that specific evening is hardly the most fascinating aspect of this tapestry, wouldn't you agree? Consider, instead, the motivations of those who *claim* to know where I was, or what I was doing. Is it not more illuminating to dissect the intent behind the accusation, rather than merely dissecting the accused's whereabouts? The truth, much like justice, is rarely found in the obvious places. And sometimes, the most profound truths are those we are least willing to acknowledge, let alone accept into the hallowed halls of a court of law.

Карлос Эрнандес

Мне 25 лет, судья

Карлос Эрнандес

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