+25 BONUS
The final day of the summit dawned under a brittle sky, the storm having passed in the night, leaving behind puddles that mirrored the gray light overhead. Inside the compound, the atmosphere was no less charged. Council members moved through the halls with clipped footsteps and hushed tones, the weight of the impending vote pressing down like fog, heavy and all- consuming.
I started my morning in the logistics office, shoulder to shoulder with Emma and the summit aides as we double–checked delegate badges, reconfigured seating for last–minute arrivals, and looked for any irregularities. The press was corralled to the designated wing, their excitement buzzing louder than the security scanners. It all had to run flawlessly. I barely had time to breathe between signing clearances and fielding quick, whispered questions from aides who looked like they hadn’t slept.
Emma handed me an updated attendance list. I scanned it once, twice–something didn’t track.
“Serena Linwood’s missing,” I said quietly.
“She checked out last night,” Emma replied, her brow furrowed. “No explanation. Just gone.”
My stomach coiled, but I tucked it away. There was too much left to do. Doubt and fear could wait.
At the same time, Richard was handed a sealed note from Beta. I saw the flicker in his eyes before he passed it to me.
Jason has disappeared.
A cold prickle slid down my spine, followed by the slow crawl of adrenaline.
“He’s not going far,” I said. “He has to be trying to clean something up.”
“Where would he go?” Richard asked, voice low.
“The east wing,” I said without hesitation. “That’s where the old records are stored. If he’s trying to plant something–or destroy it—it’ll be there.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Take Simon. Go now.”
We moved quickly, silently, Simon keeping pace beside me as the corridors narrowed. The eastern wing was unnaturally quiet, dimly lit, the buzz of the summit feeling miles away. The silence pressed in around us.
As we rounded the final corridor, Simon held up a hand. One of the secured archive doors stood slightly ajar.
Inside, the room buzzed with the hum of a laptop–its screen lit with a progress bar creeping toward completion. A single blinking cursor danced in the corner, signaling something active, something alive.
Simon moved fast, cutting the power. The lights died, the upload stalled.
I was already moving. I stepped around him, yanked the drive free, and cradled it like something fragile. It was still warm.
“What was he trying to upload?” Simon asked.
I didn’t answer. I was already deep in the folders.
One file caught my eye: Clearwater Doctrine.
Inside–notes, emails, fragmented timelines. References to my mother and father. Mentions of reforms proposed, then buried. David’s strategist’s name signed on several drafts. The correspondence was fragmented, but the implication was clear.
My hands shook slightly as I copied the contents and handed the drive to Beta the moment we returned.
“They need to see this,” I said. “All of it.”
Chapter 70
+25 BONUS
The final session was set to begin. The grand chamber hummed with expectation. Council members filtered in, faces tight, voices low. The press filed in behind glass partitions, the gleam of camera lenses reflecting every flicker of tension.
Richard stood at the podium, the weight of leadership clear in the set of his shoulders. He adjusted the microphone.
But before he could speak, I stepped forward.
“I need to speak,” I said. My voice was calm. Centered.
He looked at me, nodded once.
I turned to the council. To the cameras. To everyone.
And I told them everything.
About the lies. About the digital trails, the manipulated documents, the whispers in the dark that became shouts.
I didn’t make a speech.
I made a promise.
“I won’t let silence protect power anymore. I won’t let legacy erase truth. Not if I can help it.”
The room froze. Every camera stayed locked. Every breath was held.
Then Richard stepped beside me.
“I move to call an immediate review of David’s campaign,” he said, voice low but firm.
The chamber erupted. Debate. Accusations. Cries for order. Voices rose, echoing off marble and glass.
I slipped out before it boiled over.
The hallway outside stretched wide and silent. I leaned back against the wall, feeling the weight of it all settle into my shoulders.
A moment later, Richard found me.
“You did it,” he said.
I didn’t smile. “I just told the truth.”
He stepped closer. “Sometimes that’s the bravest thing anyone can do.”
His gaze lingered on me, not just with admiration but with something quieter, deeper. The storm had passed. Light pooled through the windows in long strips. For the first time in weeks, the compound felt still.
That night, I stayed late in the archive basement, alone except for the hum of the heater and the rhythmic scratch of my pen against paper. I was organizing summit minutes, verifying vote tallies, cross–referencing records.
The power cut mid–scribble.
The overheads went dark. My pen skidded. I gasped, stumbling back into a filing cabinet. Pain spiked through my ankle.
My breath came fast and shallow. Blackness closed in around me.
I hated the dark.
Before I could call out, the door burst open.
“Amelia?”
2/3
Chapter 70
+25 BONUS
Richard’s voice, low and steady.
A beam of light cut through the dark. It found me.
“I think I hurt my ankle,” I said, trying to joke but failing.
He was beside me in an instant. His arm slid around my waist. I leaned into him.
“You’re freezing,” he said, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around my shoulders.
In the quiet hallway, I pressed against him, warmth slowly returning.
“I hate the dark,” I whispered.
“I know,” he murmured. “I remember.”
He helped me down the hall, step by careful step. In the main wing, he lowered me onto a bench and knelt in front of me.
His hands were warm, firm but gentle as he lifted
my
foot.
“You’ll be alright,” he said.
I looked down at him, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Why do you keep saving me?”
He looked up. “Because you’re the only one I trust to do the same.”
Something inside me snapped loose.
I leaned forward. So did he.
This time, no one pulled back.
The kiss was fire. A slow, searing ignition of everything we’d buried. His hand cupped my jaw, thumb brushing against my cheekbone as he deepened the kiss. I clung to him, fingers fisting the lapels of his coat. He tasted like heat and memory, like the moments we’d almost broken before but hadn’t. His breath caught as I pulled him closer, and he groaned against my mouth like the release of something long denied.
My back hit the wall gently as he pressed closer, his body aligning with mine like a second skin. I felt every inch of him–the tension in his shoulders, the shiver in his breath. My hands roamed up his chest to his neck, desperate to memorize him, to carve this into something permanent.
When we finally pulled apart, our breaths still tangled, his forehead rested against mine. His hand stayed cradled at my neck. “This is gonna change everything,” he whispered, voice hoarse.
“I hope so,” I breathed.
The hallway stayed quiet, lit only by emergency lights. The storm had passed outside.
Inside, something else had just begun.
