In court, Kya observes the room’s hierarchy like a marsh ecosystem: the judge as dominant, Tom Milton confidently poised, and the prosecutor relying on flash. The prosecutor calls Hal Miller, a shrimp-boat crewman, who testifies that around 1:45 A.M. he and his crew saw Kya’s boat a mile out, heading on a course toward the cove by the fire tower, without lights. The gallery stirs; Sunday Justice the cat pads to Kya and settles in her lap.

Pressed by the prosecutor, Hal says townsfolk recognize Kya’s boat and her tall, thin silhouette, and that there is no other destination in that direction besides the tower. He confirms there were no lights on her boat, though that is illegal, and asserts the course would take her toward the tower.

On cross, Tom establishes the moon was waning and rose after 2 A.M., making it very dark at 1:45. Hal admits they were at least sixty yards away, could not see what the boater wore, and identified the person mainly by boat shape and figure. When asked for certainty, Hal concedes he cannot be completely sure the person was Kya.

On redirect, the prosecutor asks if Hal has ever mistaken Kya’s boat from a distance in three years; Hal says never. With that, the State rests its case, having tied Kya to a trajectory toward the fire tower but leaving identification undercut by darkness and distance.