Kelly's eyes locked onto the figure moving past the window. She recognized the gait immediately—the distinctive walk of Margaret Chen, a courthouse clerk who had access to case files and an unfortunate habit of appearing exactly where she shouldn't be.

James was still speaking, unaware of the threat outside. Kelly's hand moved almost imperceptibly, a subtle gesture that caught his attention mid-sentence. His eyes followed hers to the window, and she watched his expression shift from confusion to understanding to something resembling panic.

Margaret paused at the intersection, her phone raised to her ear. She wasn't looking at the coffee shop—not yet—but her trajectory suggested she might turn back down Maple Street. Kelly's mind raced through the implications. If Margaret saw them together, if she connected the dots between the civil rights attorney and the prosecutor assigned to defend the convictions Kelly was challenging, the careful architecture of their secret would collapse.

James stood abruptly, the motion almost knocking over his untouched coffee. "I need to leave," he said, his voice barely audible. "Different exits. You wait five minutes."

"James—" Kelly started, but he was already moving toward the back of the shop, where a hallway led to the restrooms and a secondary door that opened onto an alley.

Kelly forced herself to remain seated, forcing her breathing to slow, forcing her expression into something resembling casual concentration on her phone. Outside, Margaret had turned slightly, her phone still pressed to her ear. The moment stretched, fragile and impossible. One glance. That's all it would take.

But Margaret continued walking, her attention fixed on her conversation. She moved past the coffee shop window without slowing, without looking inside. Kelly watched until the figure disappeared around the corner, then exhaled a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

Her hands trembled as she gathered her files. The close call had crystallized something she'd been avoiding: this wasn't sustainable. The risk was escalating, the margins for error shrinking. James's solution—the hidden evidence, the careful manipulation of procedure—suddenly seemed less like compromise and more like necessity.

She left money on the table and stood, her legs unsteady. As she passed through the door into Auburn's bitter cold, Kelly realized they were already operating like criminals, even if their cause was just.