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It was 12:09 a.m. on Dec. 18 — a mild evening just before the holiday season.

The next updates from paramedics paint a chaotic scene as they recorded an initial account of what happened while trying to keep the man alive en route to a trauma centre.

“ASSAULTED BY 10 FEMALES HEADED TOWARDS UNION STATION AT FRONT ST AND YORK,” reads the rapid-fire dispatch notes 10 minutes later.

At 12:31 a.m. comes the first record of the man’s injuries: “MULTIPLE STABBING.”

It wasn’t until two days later that pc28����police called a near-unbelievable press conference to say they’d arrested eight girls and charged them all with second-degree murder, alleging they’d swarmed and stabbed the 59-year-old man, who was homeless at the time and living in a nearby shelter.

The man, later identified as Kenneth Lee, had died from his injuries.

In the year that’s followed the unprecedented and high-profile first accounts of the so-called “girl swarm” case, I’ve sat in on nearly 40 court hearings related to the girls’ ultimately successful bail requests and the media’s legal challenges to gain access to court records.

Sweeping statutory publication bans mean there’s still not much I can tell you about what I’ve witnessed. But that doesn’t mean a lot hasn’t happened.

All eight girls have been released on bail by a judge. They are now subject to house arrest and banned from using social media until their cases can be heard.

But the path to their release wasn’t a straight line — some hearings requiring multiple days in court, at least one appeal and three of the girls seeking reviews of their bail in order to get out of custody. Two of those bail reviews saw a seasoned judge keep her courtroom open past 10 p.m. for unusual, marathon hearings.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a courtroom this late” Justice Maria Sirivar said at the time.

Near the end of that long day, Crown prosecutor Sarah De Filippis turned to me in the public gallery and said: “I can’t believe you’re still here.” Some days, I couldn’t either.

There have been accusations of “unacceptable” conditions in custody. In January, a judge made an order that one of the girls not be strip searched when she went back to the youth facility where she was being detained. In April, some of the girls were flown suddenly to Kenora, Ont. I know the reasons behind both of these unusual events, but I can’t yet report what I know.

The reason so much more of the story remains a secret is that the case is covered by two different publication bans — both routine.

The first applies to all bail hearings, adult or youth, and is meant to prevent the evidence from being shared ahead of a trial, possibly prejudicing a future jury.

The second is specific to young people and covers the girls’ identities under the Youth Criminal Justice Act. It is meant to uphold the principle that young offenders can be rehabilitated and, because their brains aren’t fully formed, have “diminished moral blameworthiness” for their crimes.

Just because these are the laws we have in place doesn’t mean everyone agrees.

For instance, Lee’s family has been vocal about their concerns with the youth criminal justice system, questioning the ban on publishing the girls’ identities and the details of why they were released on bail.

“How is the Act protecting the public if we don’t know who these perpetrators are and why they are released on bail?” reads a January statement from Lee’s brother-in-law Eric Shum.

His criticism came as the city and province grappled with bail reform, leading Premier Doug Ford to promise $112 million to create “bail compliance teams”. Indeed, two of the girls were returned to custody this summer after previously being released on bail — but, again, I can’t report why.

This past year has also seen a troubling rise in youth violence — a concerning trend that includes the girls and their alleged crime.

In November, Statistics Canada released new data analysis showing 90 young people had been arrested for homicide across Canada in 2022 — a five-decade high. pc28����was home to the biggest concentration of accused, thanks in part to the girl swarm case.

A documented rise in violence at school has also left parents, teachers and advocates struggling to stave off crisis.

As a crime reporter, the girls’ case has sparked bigger questions for me about how we treat youth in the criminal justice system, about the balance between the public’s right to know and the accused’s right to privacy and whether the youth are, in fact, alright.

My colleagues and I worked on a series this year showing they’re not — from healthcare to violence and education to mental wellness, young people in this city and province are struggling.

Sitting in court, the age of the girls sitting in front of me can feel incredibly stark when you consider the charges they face. Despite everything I know about the roots of youth violence, I can’t help but think: How did we get here?

Earlier this year, Ryder Gilliland, an expert media lawyer representing the Star and other outlets, launched a legal challenge over the inability for journalists to access youth court records.

This is a different issue than the publication bans. Laws governing youth justice can make it incredibly difficult to keep track of basic administrative details and borderline impossible to find out what happened at a hearing a reporter may have missed.

It’s not that we want to breach any publication bans. Court documents can act as a roadmap to hearings, help us stay on top of next court dates and be in touch with key players, like defence lawyers. Accessing these documents also helps us to prepare stories that we know are going to need a lot of context — stories like the girl swarm case. But unlike adult cases, court records related to youth are strictly held. Even a higher court couldn’t get access to the documents for the purpose of one of the hearings in the media’s case.

After our first challenge, we were provided with an initial court information — a standard document that typically has lots of important details about a case and the accused. But the names and birthdays of the girls were blacked out. Instead, it lists the girls as “Young person No. 1” through “No. 8” and the year of their birth. That, despite the fact I’ve heard their full names almost every time I was present in court. Basic facts like an offender’s birthday are helpful to know in a case like this, where by the time any of the girls get to trial, they will not still be ages 13, 13, 13, 14, 14, 16 and 16. Without their full birthdays, I can’t simply calculate how old they are each time I write about them.

We have been denied access to most other records at both the Ontario Court and Superior Court levels. A judge also refused to hear a constitutional challenge to parts of the Youth Criminal Justice Act. But we haven’t exhausted all our legal avenues.

The next year for the girls holds perhaps more uncertainty.

Their preliminary hearing is scheduled for April and is expected to stretch several weeks. A preliminary hearing is like a dress rehearsal, where lawyers can work out what evidence and legal issues a judge or jury needs to see at the ultimate trial that will decide the girls’ fate.

If and when the case does go to trial, once that trial ends, I’ll finally be able to report many more of the things I’ve learned in the last year.

Of course, a lot of things can happen between now and then.

I plan to be there for all of it, trying to make sense of the bigger questions that are at stake and fighting for access to benefit the public interest in this and other cases.