Aftershocks
You don’t prepare for what happens after the storm.
Not really. You brace for the flash. The roar. The moment everything splits open and truth pours out like rain.
But no one tells you how to survive what comes next.
Silence. Suspicion. The slow crawl of headlines and judgment. The ghosts that move in when the world quiets down.
We’d survived the summit. We’d walked out of the Palais with bloodless hands and a smoking matchbox in our pocket. Dorian had been unseated. The board had turned. Our names were no longer whispers in the dark—they were echoing through every corner of the media, boardrooms, and backroom deals.
But as I sat in the center of the Paris safehouse, clutching a mug I’d forgotten how to drink from, all I could feel was the unraveling.
Because Faye was st
