Mira Lawson had always believed that truth was something clean.
Sharp. Bright. Clear.
Like a blade that cut through lies and left the world better for it.
She learned, that night, that truth was more like a storm.
It didn't just reveal things.
It tore them apart.
The flash drive sat on her desk like a small, silent promise.
Or a threat.
Mira lay on her bed staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, tracing them with her eyes as if they were constellations she could map and make sense of. Her phone rested beside her, screen dark, unread messages piling up like waves she didn't have the strength to swim through yet.
She had never felt this kind of quiet before.
Not peaceful.
Anticipatory.
The kind of quiet that existed right before something broke.
Her phone buzzed softly.
Not a call.
A message.
Adrian:
Still awake?
She smiled despite herself.
Her fingers hovered over the screen before typing.
Mira:
