Emily stood in the wing, the podium washed in stage-white a few yards away, the air thick with microphone hiss and perfume. Someone from Brian’s comms team had just pressed a single sheet into her palm—legalese in a funeral shroud. She skimmed the bullets again, each one flatter than the last:
“…social media claims hold no evidentiary weight…”
“…allegations against the candidate mayor’s professional and personal life are categorically false…”
“…legal action will be pursued…”
They hadn’t even bothered to add a thank you.
Across the curtain edge, Brian watched her. Arms folded. Mouth tight. Not smiling. Worry sat between his brows like a bruise he didn’t know he had. It should have satisfied her. Instead, something steadier bloomed under her ribs.
You’re right to worry, she thought, an
