The temperature in Courtroom 4A was already arctic, but when defense attorney William Wexler stood up on December 10, 2025, and announced that Austin Lynch wanted a psychiatric evaluation before facing murder charges, the room seemed to drop another ten degrees. Emily Finn’s mother let out a choked sob. Her friends, wearing pink ribbons and clutching framed photos of the 18-year-old ballerina, gripped one another’s hands so tightly their knuckles went white. Outside the courthouse, a vigil of dozens stood in the December drizzle holding candles and signs that read JUSTICE FOR EMILY.

Inside, 18-year-old Austin Lynch sat motionless, his face still half-covered in gauze from the self-inflicted shotgun blast that failed to end his life the morning he allegedly executed his ex-girlfriend. When Wexler calmly informed Judge Stephen L. Braslow that his client “may not be competent to stand trial at this time,” a ripple of disbelief swept through the gallery.

“He shot her in the back of the head while she was walking away, then tried to kill himself. That’s not mental illness; that’s premeditated murder,” one of Emily’s high school friends whispered, loud enough for the row behind to hear. Prosecutors didn’t bother hiding their disgust. Assistant District Attorney Dena Rizopoulos rose and reminded the court that Lynch had spent the previous two weeks texting Emily obsessively, threatening suicide if she didn’t take him back, and even showing up at her house uninvited. “This was not a spontaneous act of a broken mind,” she said. “This was a calculated decision by a jealous, controlling 18-year-old who couldn’t accept that she was moving on.”

Lynch’s request, filed under Article 730 of New York criminal procedure law, is routine in some capital cases, but in this one it landed like a slap. If granted, two court-appointed psychiatrists will evaluate him over the next 30–60 days, potentially delaying the trial for months and opening the door to an insanity defense down the line. Judge Braslow set the next hearing for January 15, 2026, and reserved decision.

Emily’s mother, visibly shaking as she left the courthouse, told reporters through tears: “He took my daughter’s future. Now he wants to hide behind doctors and excuses? She doesn’t get a second chance. Why should he get to play crazy?”

The facts laid bare in the indictment are brutal and straightforward. On the morning of November 26, 2025, Emily drove to Lynch’s house in Nesconset to return his belongings and end contact for good. According to prosecutors, as she turned to leave, Lynch loaded two shells into his family’s 12-gauge shotgun and fired one into the back of her skull from less than three feet away. He then put the barrel under his own chin and pulled the trigger. The blast shattered his face but didn’t kill him. Emily died instantly.

Friends say the breakup had been coming for weeks. Emily, a freshman at SUNY Oneonta, had blossomed in college, new friends, new freedom, dance classes three nights a week. Austin, stuck at home waiting for Marine boot camp in February, couldn’t handle it. Texts recovered by police show him spiraling: “If you leave me I’ll make sure you regret it,” “I can’t live without you,” “You’ll see what happens when you ignore me.” The night before the murder, he allegedly told a friend he was going to “show her how angry I really am.”

Since the shooting, support for Emily’s family has poured in. A GoFundMe titled “Emily’s Light” surpassed $87,000 in two weeks. Her ballet studio in Bayport draped its windows in pink tulle. Classmates from Connetquot High School filled a Facebook group with memories of her laugh, her perfect grand jetés, her dream of opening a dance school for underprivileged kids.

Austin Lynch, meanwhile, remains in the jail ward at Stony Brook University Hospital recovering from reconstructive surgery. His Marine Corps enlistment has been voided. If the psychiatric exam is denied and he’s convicted of second-degree murder, he faces 25 years to life with no parole.

Outside the courthouse, Emily’s aunt addressed the cameras directly: “We’re not going anywhere. We’ll be here every single hearing until he’s held accountable, no delays, no excuses.”

As the crowd dispersed into the cold, one pink candle still burned on the courthouse steps, its flame flickering but unbroken, just like the community refusing to let Emily be forgotten.