Windows
812 Words
Morning came as if the night had been only a rumor.
The city looked washed, uncertain what it had confessed.
From the small apartment above the river, Amara watched sunlight creep across the floorboards, lighting the chaos they’d brought with them—files, cables, damp shoes, half-empty coffee cups.
Damian sat near the window, bandaged wrist resting on the sill. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked breakable in the daylight.
“You should rest,” she said.
“I don’t know how,” he answered.
Neither did she. The adrenaline had dried into exhaustion that wouldn’t let her sleep. She joined him at the window, watching boats cut across the gray water like slow thoughts.
Outside, sirens still echoed from somewhere else—remnants of a city processing scandal. The news feeds rolled nonstop: Voss International board members detained… Project Reflection leaks verified… Investigations underway.
The world was on fire, but it was finally burning the right people.
Lina stumbled out from the small bedroom, hair tied up, eyes sharp. “News just broke another angle,” she said, holding her phone toward them. “Anonymous insider claims the surveillance program had government clients. Ivy’s running.”
Damian’s mouth tightened. “She won’t run far. Too many hands want to clean themselves with her blood.”
“And you?” Amara asked quietly. “What do you want?”
He didn’t answer right away. “To stop being the story.”
Lina looked between them, reading what neither could say. “I’ll check in with Elias. See if he’s safe.” She left before they could stop her.
Silence filled the space like steam. Amara leaned against the glass. “When you said ‘no more mirrors,’ did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why do I still feel like you’re hiding behind one?”
He turned his head, met her eyes. “Because habit doesn’t die in a day.”
She exhaled. “Neither does trust.”
He looked away, to the skyline. “We can build something new. Real transparency. You lead, I support. The company can become what it should have been.”
“You think the world will let you?”
“I don’t need its permission. Just yours.”
The words landed heavy between them—half promise, half confession.
By noon, reporters camped outside the building’s entrance.
Lina returned with sandwiches and bad news. “Elias is gone again,” she said. “No trace after the upload. Either he’s hiding, or someone made him hide.”
Amara rubbed her forehead. “So even truth costs its messengers.”
“That’s why we keep control of the narrative,” Lina said. “We tell it ourselves.”
“How?”
“Press conference. Live stream. You, standing beside the man who tried to own you, saying you now own the truth together. It’s risky, but it ends speculation.”
Damian nodded slowly. “It also paints a target on us.”
“You already have one,” Lina said. “Might as well choose the spotlight.”
Amara considered. “We’ll need a location with symbolism.”
Damian smiled faintly. “The glass factory?”
“The same place everything started?”
“The place where everything broke,” he said. “And maybe where it begins again.”
Lina clapped her hands once. “Then we rebuild it in forty-eight hours. I’ll handle logistics. You two handle the story.”
That night, they returned to the factory.
Rain hadn’t touched it; the river wind kept the air smelling of metal and memory. Damian switched on the generator. Light pooled across the concrete, catching on shattered glass.
Amara walked the space slowly, tracing the outline of where she had once stood when he handed her the key. “Strange,” she said. “It feels smaller.”
“Freedom does that,” he said.
She turned to face him. “You really meant to give it all up?”
“Everything I built was rot dressed as marble. Let it crumble.”
“You could rebuild it clean.”
“Only if you’re part of it.”
She wanted to answer, but the words tangled with fear.
Instead she said, “Start with transparency then. Tell me everything you haven’t said.”
Damian hesitated. The hum of the generator filled the pause.
“There’s one more file,” he said finally. “A hidden branch of the project—Reflection Zero. I never opened it. Ivy handled it herself. After tonight, we erase it completely.”
“What’s in it?”
“I don’t know.”
She studied him. “You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
But his eyes slid away for a fraction of a second—long enough for doubt to bloom like mold in her chest.
- Writer
