In the backyard, Finn's voice floated through the window, talking to Ares in the easy, unselfconscious way kids talk to animals, telling her everything was going to be fine. Jade kept writing.
The morning came in hard and bright. Jade was already dressed when Marcus called. She had been up since before dawn, sitting with her legal pad and her coffee, running through everything she knew the way she used to run through mission briefings, looking for the weak points, the angles, the things that could go wrong. There were a lot of things that could go wrong.
"I filed the emergency motions this morning," Marcus said. "We're asking the city court to block the impoundment entirely. The judge is Philip Owens. The hearing is set for this afternoon."
"Owens," she repeated. She did not know the name.
"He's been on the city bench for 11 years," Marcus said, and something careful in his voice told her the rest before he said it: "He and Caldwell go back a long way."
Jade was quiet for a moment. "What are the odds?" she asked.
Marcus did not answer immediately. That was answer enough.
"Do it anyway," she said.
"Judge Owens denied the emergency stay without granting a hearing." Marcus called later that afternoon, his voice controlled and professional—the way it got when he was managing his own reaction on top of delivering bad news. "No hearing, no oral argument. He reviewed the written motion and denied it. The impoundment order stands. Jade, we have days."
She wrote it at the top of her legal pad and circled it twice. "What's next?" she said.
"Appellate court, state level. I'm already drafting the filing. It's a stronger argument at that level: federal certification, federal protections. We have a better shot. But it takes time. We do not have a lot of it."
"Then do not waste any more of it on this call," she said. "Go."
She heard him almost laugh—brief, tight, grateful for the clarity. Then he hung up.