The night sky over the city was a sheet of black glass, reflecting lights from towers that never slept. Inside The Imperial Crest, silence had replaced the usual hum of activity. It was the calm before something broke.
John sat behind his desk, the anonymous email still glowing on his monitor. The image of Ms. Patel with Michael Adison had looped through his mind all night. If it were real, it meant treason. If it was planted, it meant manipulation. Either way, someone was tightening a noose around his neck.
He leaned back, exhaustion lining his face. He had learned long ago that empires didn't collapse because of enemies — they collapsed because of friends.
Rita knocked softly and entered without waiting for permission. Her presence, even in silence, grounded him.
"You're still here," she said.
He gave a faint smile. "Apparently, insomnia is part of the job description."
She walked closer, noticing the dark circles beneath his eyes. "You look like you've been fighting ghosts."
He glanced at the monitor. "Maybe I am."
Her gaze followed his, landing on the photograph. "Patel?"
He nodded. "Someone sent me this last night. No sender, no trace. Just a message that says the next headline will be my obituary."
Rita's pulse quickened. "You think it's real?"
"I don't know," John said. "But if it is, she's compromised. And if it isn't, then someone wants me to believe she is."
He turned off the screen. "Either way, it's war."
Rita hesitated, torn between two truths. She couldn't tell him yet about Dalton. Not until she was sure. "Maybe you should take a step back before confronting anyone," she said. "If the goal is chaos, reacting too quickly plays into their hands."
John studied her for a moment. "You've been quiet lately."
"Just tired," she said.
He smiled faintly. "Liar."
She didn't respond.
"Find out who sent that email," he said finally. "Quietly. No one else needs to know."
Rita nodded, hiding the tremor in her voice. "I'll take care of it."
The next morning, Morgan Jud was already deep into his analysis. His fingers danced across the keyboard as lines of code rolled down the screen.
Rita stood beside him in the dim glow of the monitors.
"I've traced the email that John got," Morgan said. "It didn't come from an external address. Whoever sent it used The Crest's own firewall as a delivery channel."
Rita frowned. "Meaning?"
"Meaning someone inside wanted to warn him," Morgan said. "And they're good. They bypassed every detection layer without leaving a trace."
Rita leaned closer. "Could it be Dalton?"
Morgan shook his head. "No. Dalton's transmissions follow a different pattern — direct exfiltration, no interference. Whoever sent this is trying to stop the bleeding, not cause it."
Rita folded her arms, thinking. "So we have two factions inside The Crest — one trying to destroy it, another trying to protect John without being seen."
Morgan nodded. "It's a digital battlefield, Rita. And right now, you're standing in the middle of it."
Her phone buzzed. A message from Dalton: Need to see you. Urgent.
She froze, glancing at Morgan. "He wants to meet."
Morgan's tone darkened. "Then be careful. If he suspects you know something, he'll act first."
Rita slipped her phone back into her bag. "I can handle Dalton."
Morgan looked doubtful. "You're playing with fire."
She gave a tight smile. "Then I'll make sure I don't get burned."
Dalton's office was dimly lit when she arrived. The blinds were drawn, and the faint glow of his desk lamp cast long shadows across the room.
He was standing by the window, staring out at the skyline. His reflection shimmered faintly against the glass.
"Dalton," Rita said softly.
He turned, his face unreadable. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
"You said it was urgent."
"It is." He motioned for her to sit. "I need you to tell John something."
"What?"
He hesitated. "That he should stop digging. The deeper he goes, the closer he gets to something he won't come back from."
Her pulse quickened. "What are you talking about?"
Dalton's expression was strange — part guilt, part exhaustion. "You think this is just about leaks and headlines? You have no idea what's been set in motion."
"Then explain it to me," she said, standing. "Because right now, it looks like you've been feeding our enemies."
His eyes flicked toward her. "You've been watching me."
The air between them turned sharp. Rita didn't move. "Why, Dalton? After everything we've built, why betray him?"
He laughed softly, but there was no humour in it. "You still don't get it. Betrayal isn't always a choice. Sometimes it's the price of survival."
"What does that mean?"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Do you know what Sovereign really was? Not a company. A network. The same one that built The Crest, the same one that funded it from the shadows. When Sovereign fell, The Benefactor didn't vanish. He just changed his face."
Rita stared at him. "You're saying The Benefactor is behind The Crest too?"
Dalton nodded slowly. "Every empire has an owner, Rita. Even this one. We just never knew who we were working for."
She swallowed hard. "Then why stay?"
He looked past her, his eyes distant. "Because they own everything I care about. My family, my debts, my past. You think loyalty matters to men like that?"
Her voice trembled. "You could have told John."
"He wouldn't have listened," Dalton said quietly. "He still believes he can fight this with principles. But this is bigger than him, bigger than all of us."
Rita took a step forward. "Help me stop them."
He met her eyes, and for a brief moment, she saw the man he used to be — loyal, steady, human. Then it was gone.
"It's too late," he said softly. "The board meeting tomorrow — it's already been decided."
"What's been decided?"
Dalton turned away, his hand gripping the edge of the desk. "You'll find out soon enough."
She moved closer. "Dalton, please—"
He spun back suddenly, his voice sharp. "Don't follow me, Rita. If you care about John, get him out of here before it happens."
"What happens?" she demanded.
His gaze softened again, filled with regret. "The face you see in the mirror isn't always your own."
Before she could speak, he walked past her and out of the room, leaving her alone in the dim light.
That night, Rita returned to Morgan's workspace, her hands trembling. "He knows," she said. "Dalton knows everything. The board meeting tomorrow — he said something's been planned."
Morgan's fingers froze over the keyboard. "Planned? What kind of plan?"
"I don't know," she said. "But he looked terrified."
Morgan cursed under his breath. "I'll run another sweep. If something's scheduled on the internal calendar, I'll find it."
She watched him work, her mind spinning. The phrase Dalton had used echoed in her head — the face you see in the mirror isn't always your own.
Her heart sank as the meaning began to dawn on her.
"Rita," Morgan said suddenly, his tone sharp. "Look at this."
On the screen was a document marked Confidential Board Protocol. It was an emergency directive scheduled for tomorrow titled Leadership Transition Vote.
Rita's eyes widened. "They're planning to remove John."
Morgan's expression darkened. "And if Dalton's right, that vote might not be the only thing happening in that room."
Rita's voice was barely a whisper. "Then we're out of time."
At that same hour, in a secluded villa outside the city, Michael Adison stood on the terrace, a phone pressed to his ear.
"The vote's confirmed," he said. "By tomorrow afternoon, Raymond will be out."
The voice on the other end was calm and measured. "See that it happens cleanly. The Benefactor doesn't tolerate chaos."
Michael's jaw clenched. "And if he survives the vote?"
The voice paused. "Then make sure he doesn't."
The line went dead.
Michael lowered the phone, the night wind tugging at his sleeve. His reflection shimmered in the glass door beside him. For the first time, he saw his own fear staring back.
Back in the city, John sat in his office, and the lights dimmed. The glass wall in front of him reflected his face — calm, determined, but haunted.
He didn't know yet that the mirror he trusted was already cracking.
Tomorrow, when the board convened, the empire he rebuilt would stand on the edge of collapse — and he would finally come face to face with the betrayal waiting inside his own reflection.