It was Marcus. The barista, carrying a trash bag to the dumpster behind the building, visible through the coffee shop's side window. Kelly's panic subsided almost immediately, replaced by a different kind of anxiety—the constant vigilance required to keep them hidden.

James didn't notice her sudden tension. He was still leaning forward, waiting for her response, his expression earnest and determined. Kelly realized he hadn't seen the figure outside. He was lost in the momentum of his own argument, the seductive logic of his plan.

"It's not foolproof," Kelly said quietly, forcing herself to focus back on him. "Nothing is. But you're right that we're running out of time."

James's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if he'd been holding his breath. "Then you'll do it? You'll file the discovery request?"

Kelly wrapped both hands around her cooling coffee, using the gesture to create distance between them—a physical reminder of the professional boundaries they kept shattering. "I'll think about it. I need to review the timeline more carefully, make sure the request doesn't raise red flags."

"Don't think too long." There was urgency in James's voice now, and something else beneath it—fear, maybe. Or the weight of what he was offering. "The preliminary hearing is scheduled for December fifteenth. After that, the evidentiary window narrows significantly."

Kelly knew the dates by heart. She'd been living by them for months, structuring her entire existence around the narrow corridor of time available to save three innocent lives. "Twelve days," she said.

"Twelve days," James echoed. He pulled his hands away from his coffee cup, a gesture that felt like withdrawal. "We can't keep meeting like this, Kelly. It's getting riskier. People are starting to notice the gaps in my calendar. My assistant asked questions about why I'm taking lunch at irregular times."

The words struck Kelly like a blow. She'd known this was unsustainable—had always known it—but hearing him say it made the reality suddenly concrete. This couldn't last. Whatever they were building together in the margins of coffee shops and courthouse hallways had an expiration date that was approaching faster than either of them wanted to acknowledge.

"I know," she said. The admission felt like surrender.