The lockout began at 6:04 a.m.
Elara knew the exact time because her phone chimed once—soft, almost polite—before cascading alerts flooded her screen.
ACCOUNT ACCESS DENIED
PAYMENT METHOD DECLINED
SECURITY UPDATE: CREDENTIALS INVALID
She sat up in bed, the city still gray with early morning fog, and let the wave hit her without reaction.
This, too, had been anticipated.
They were efficient. She would give them that.
Elara swung her legs over the side of the bed and opened her laptop. Her primary account—gone. Secondary—restricted. Personal investment portfolio—"under review."
A smile touched her lips, thin and humorless.
They hadn't frozen everything.
Only what they knew about.
She closed the laptop and stood, moving through her apartment with calm precision. Shower. Coffee. Clothing chosen not for power, but for anonymity—dark jeans, boots, a neutral coat.
By the time the sun fully rose, Elara was already planning her day around scarcity.
Power, she had learned, was loud.
Survival was quiet.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, a name.
Caleb Ashford
Her breath paused—not caught, just… held.
She hadn't seen his name in nearly three years.
Not since she had ended things with a decisiveness that had surprised them both.
She answered without speaking.
"Elara," Caleb said. His voice was exactly as she remembered—low, steady, careful with emotion. "You're awake."
"I am," she replied. "Which means you've been watching the news."
A pause. "I've been watching you."
She closed her eyes briefly. "That's a habit you should have broken."
"I tried," he said quietly. "You fell off every official channel last night. That doesn't happen unless someone wants you invisible."
"So?" she asked.
"So," Caleb continued, "I just got a call from a compliance officer who owes me a favor. Your assets are frozen under an internal risk provision."
Elara leaned against the counter. "How generous of them."
"They're isolating you," Caleb said. "Classic pressure tactic. They expect you to panic. To negotiate."
"I won't," she replied.
"I know," he said. "That's why I'm calling."
She waited.
"I have resources that aren't connected to Ravenscroft," Caleb said. "Private. Clean. And I still have access to people who don't answer to your board."
Elara opened her eyes. "And what do you want in return?"
A soft exhale on the other end of the line.
"The truth," he said. "And the chance to stand on the right side of it this time."
This time.
The words carried weight.
"You chose distance when things got complicated," Elara said.
"You chose control," Caleb replied gently. "We both lost."
Silence stretched between them, thick with everything unsaid.
Finally, Elara spoke. "Meet me. One hour. Café Ardent."
"I'll be there."
She ended the call and stared out the window.
Caleb Ashford—independent risk analyst, former consultant to Ravenscroft, and the one man who had ever looked at her without seeing the empire first.
Trusting him now was dangerous.
So was standing alone.
Her door buzzer rang.
Elara froze.
She hadn't ordered anything. No one was scheduled.
She moved quietly, peering through the security screen.
A courier stood outside, holding a slim envelope. Unmarked. No logo.
She opened the door only enough to accept it, then locked it again immediately.
Inside, a single sheet of paper.
Typed. No signature.
You should have taken the deal.
This is your final courtesy.
Elara folded the paper once, then again, and dropped it into the trash.
Courtesy, she thought.
They still believed she would break.
She picked up her coat, slid the flash drive Jonah had given her into her pocket, and headed for the door.
If they wanted her gone, they would have to do more than starve her of money and surround her with ghosts.
They would have to understand her.
And they never had.