Morning arrived sharp and metallic. Headlines screamed about the "mysterious leak" of internal documents from Vanthe Studios. Anonymous sources accused Cassian Vale of fraud and coercion. The stock market trembled. Cassian, immaculate as ever, appeared on television and smiled too long when denying everything.
Maya watched from her rented apartment. The footage paused on his expression—perfect control cracked by a flicker of fear. That was enough. She'd drawn blood without touching him.
But power rarely bleeds alone.
That evening, she received a message on her encrypted line: We know who you are.
She burned the device immediately.
By nightfall, she was at her cousin Lina Alvar's estate outside the city. Lina was one of the few family members who didn't fear her.
"You're making noise," Lina said, handing her a cup of tea. "That's not how our family survives."
"I'm not surviving," Maya said. "I'm hunting."
Lina studied her, then sighed. "And when you find what you're looking for?"
"Then I'll stop."
"That's what they all said," Lina murmured. "Before they didn't."
---
Later, alone in her room, Maya unfolded Elias's old photograph. His smile still looked real—too real. She placed it beside a list of names: Cassian Vale. Anaïs Korver. Julian Trent. Each responsible, each complicit.
Outside, thunder rolled again, the same way it had the night she made her vow.
Maya lit a single candle and held it until the wax burned her fingers.
"Fire purifies," she whispered.
And in the flicker of that small flame, her reflection looked less like grief and more like resolve.