The drive to the Times building was a silent, suspended moment between one reality and the next. Elara stared out the window at the city waking up, a city that had no idea its financial bedrock was about to be cracked open. Kaelan drove, his jaw clenched, one hand on the wheel, the other pressed to his aching ribs. The birth certificate and the pressed orchid lay on the console between them like a live grenade.
“He’ll see the text,” Kaelan finally said, his voice hoarse. “He’ll be scrambling. He might try to get to the editor first.”
“He’ll try,” Elara agreed, her voice unnervingly calm. “But the editor Miranda knows… she owes her. And more than that, she hates Charles. He blackballed her husband’s company a decade ago. This isn’t just a story to her. It’s revenge.”
They pulled into the
