The upload went live at 3:00 a.m.
NUMA didn't wait for permission.
She said nothing. She didn't warn Elara. Didn't discuss a plan.
She just pushed the files into the world.
"We have to get ahead of them," NUMA had said the night before.
"Strike first. Leak hard. Go loud."
Now, it was done.
And it was wrong.
By dawn, the headlines had already twisted.
"Mentally Unstable Heiress Wages War on Father's Legacy"
"Bello Family Secrets or Manufactured Grief?"
"Was Amara Bello Suicidal?"
Elara stared at the screen. Her mouth dry. Her hands shaking.
The files were edited.
The audio was clipped.
Amara's pregnancy?
Gone.
Senator Diri's name?
Redacted.
The darkest truths had been erased surgically.
What remained only made Elara look dangerous. Erratic. Unstable.
NUMA was gone.
Her safehouse was cleared. Her servers were wiped. Her backups—dead.
All that remained was a single sticky note on her monitor:
"You were never the target.
You were the story."
Khalid smashed a glass against the wall.
"She sold us out," he said. "She clipped the files and vanished. Just like that."
"No," Elara murmured. "She didn't just sell us out. She positioned us. Like pawns."
"She burned your name."
"She framed my madness."
They stood in silence, surrounded by screens playing lies.
Then Elara's phone buzzed.
An audio file.
No name. No number. Just a recording.
She clicked it.
A distorted voice, filtered and sharp:
"There's one more tape.
The one Amara left for you.
The one she never let anyone else hear."
"She buried it where it all began."
"Come alone."
"We'll be waiting."
The message ended.
Khalid's voice was tight. "Don't go."
"I have to."
"They're baiting you."
Elara looked up.
"Good."
Outside, the night pressed against the glass like it was listening.
Elara stood with the burner phone in her hand, eyes locked on the city skyline.
NUMA was gone.
The public had turned.
But somewhere, a voice waited in the dark.
And Elara wasn't running anymore.