Kelly's throat went dry. Being watched meant everything was collapsing faster than she'd anticipated. She forced herself to reach for a cup from the stack near the register, her movements mechanical and careful.

"How long?" she asked, keeping her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest.

"Since last week. After I filed the motion to review the Brennan case evidence." James's fingers drummed once against his cup—their signal for urgency. "My supervisor called me in, said there were concerns about my thoroughness. He used that word specifically. Thoroughness. Like it was a liability."

Kelly understood immediately. In Auburn's compromised system, thoroughness was dangerous. It meant asking questions that powerful people didn't want asked. It meant examining the scaffolding that held up convenient convictions.

"We need to be more careful," James continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or we need to stop."

The words hung between them like a blade. Stop. As if what existed between them could simply cease because circumstances demanded it. Kelly had spent three years building her case, three years reviewing police reports that contradicted themselves, witness statements that had been altered, forensic evidence that didn't match the official narrative. Three years of passion for justice that had somehow become entangled with passion for the man who represented the prosecution.

She wanted to tell him that stopping wasn't possible. That the moment he'd shown her those files—the ones that raised questions about the original investigation—something had shifted between duty and desire. But saying it aloud would only make things worse.

James stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair against the floor drawing a brief glance from the elderly man reading the newspaper. James didn't acknowledge the attention. He simply left cash on the table and moved toward the door with the careful nonchalance of someone who had nothing to hide.

Kelly remained at the counter, her hand trembling slightly as she lifted her untouched refill. Through the window, she watched James walk into the November cold, back toward the courthouse, back toward a system that was watching him now. Back toward a choice that neither of them had made yet but both of them could feel approaching like a storm.