I blink. The defense attorney is staring at me, waiting for a response to something I didn't hear.
"Could you repeat that, counselor?"
He does. Something about an extension. I grant it without fully processing why, and the hearing moves on, and I move with it, carried along by the current of procedure and precedent while my thoughts churn underneath.
During the afternoon recess, I look up from my notes and see Adrian.
He's in the gallery. Second row, aisle seat, positioned with a clear sightline to my bench. There's no reason for him to be here, the DeLuca case doesn't resume until next week. He's not connected to the property dispute. He's just... present.
Watching.
His eyes meet mine across the courtroom. That smile spreads across his face, the one I remember from a hundred terrible moments, the one that came beforeyou made me dothis, caraandwhy do you make me so angryandno one else will ever want you, you know that, right?
My hands go cold. My throat tightens.
Don't freeze. Don't give him the satisfaction.
Cole stands against the back wall, arms crossed, attention sweeping the room in that constant surveillance pattern I've grown used to. He hasn't noticed Adrian yet. Or if he has, he's not reacting.
Two men in this room who think they have the right to control you. Two men who touch your life without asking permission.
And you're just supposed to sit here and preside over a hearing about commercial easements.
I force my gaze away from Adrian. Back to my notes. Back to the attorneys waiting for my attention.
"Court will resume in fifteen minutes," I announce, and my voice sounds almost normal. "We're adjourned until then."
I don't look at Adrian as I rise. Don't look at Cole as I walk toward chambers. I just move, one foot in front of the other, until I'm through the door and it's closed behind me and I can finally let my hands shake.
He's here. Adrian is here.
And Cole switched your pills this morning.
And someone left flowers on your desk with a countdown.
Twenty-three days.
How many threats can one woman carry before she breaks?
I sink into my chair and press my palms flat against the desk and breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way my therapist taught me.
You're not going to break. You've survived worse than this. But have I really?
The door opens. I don't look up, already knowing who it is by the particular weight of his footsteps.
"He was in the gallery." Cole's voice is flat, controlled. "Adrian. I saw him."
"I know."
"He's not connected to this case."
"I know that too."
Silence. I can feel him standing there, waiting for something. An explanation, a reaction, permission to do whatever violent thing is coiling behind his careful composure.
I don't give him any of it.
"Court resumes in twelve minutes," I say. "I need to review my notes."