Morning came with fire instead of sunlight.
Cities woke to chaos — screens flashing red alerts, reporters shouting names that had once ruled boardrooms and parliaments. "Breaking: Rossi Files Part II Confirms High-Level Corruption Across Five Countries."
The world had cracked open, and Amira's name was the fault line.
⸻
Far from the noise, Amira sat in a cold interrogation room.
The walls were gray, the light too bright. She didn't know how long she'd been there — hours, days, or lifetimes. They fed her, but never spoke. Questions came only through recordings. Faces stayed hidden behind glass.
Until today.
The door clicked open, and the woman in white returned — calm, composed, eyes sharper than the edge of a knife.
"You've made quite a mess," the woman said, placing a folder on the table. "Governments are burning. Banks collapsing. And for what?"
Amira didn't answer.
The woman tilted her head. "You think this is victory? You destroyed an empire, Mrs. Rossi. But you also destroyed a system that fed millions."
"Fed?" Amira whispered. "You mean corrupted."
"Semantics," the woman replied, smiling. "Do you know how much the world hates a whistleblower? Even when you're right, you become the villain."
Amira's lips curved faintly. "Then I can live with that."
The woman leaned closer. "No. You can't."
Her fingers tapped the folder. "This is your death certificate. Dated tomorrow. Signed. Sealed. The world already believes you died three months ago. We're just making it official this time."
Amira's pulse raced, but she kept her voice steady. "If you're going to kill me, do it. But don't think it changes anything."
"Ah," the woman smiled again, "but you misunderstand. I'm not here to kill you. I'm here to offer you a trade."
Amira frowned. "A trade?"
The woman slid a photo across the table.
It was Leonardo — pale, lifeless, lying in a morgue.
Except… the tag on his toe wasn't filled in.
Amira's breath caught. "He's alive?"
The woman's eyes gleamed. "He might be. But the question is — how much is that truth worth to you?"
⸻
Hours later, Amira sat alone, staring at the photo until her eyes blurred.
Could it be a trick? Another layer in the web? Leonardo had fallen — she'd seen it, felt it, heard the shot tear through him. Yet, the hope in her chest refused to die.
"Alive," she whispered, as if saying it could make it true.
The door creaked. A guard entered, silent and cold. "You're being transferred."
"To where?"
He didn't answer.
They led her through narrow hallways, her hands bound, her steps echoing. The smell of bleach and rust hung heavy. She counted doors — one, two, three — then a sudden turn, down metal stairs.
Finally, a room.
Dim. Empty. Except for the hum of machines — and a single figure seated, handcuffed, head bowed.
Amira froze.
"Leonardo…"
He looked up.
Alive. Weak, scarred, but alive.
"Amira," he rasped, voice raw from disuse. "They said you were gone."
She stumbled forward, falling to her knees beside him. "I thought you were—"
"I know." His voice broke. "They told me you betrayed me. That you leaked everything to save yourself."
She shook her head violently. "I leaked it to save you — to save what was left of us."
He stared at her for a long time, searching for truth. Finally, he sighed, eyes softening. "You shouldn't have come."
"I didn't have a choice."
⸻
The door opened again. The woman in white entered, clapping softly. "Touching reunion. I'll give you five minutes before the next storm hits."
Amira turned. "What do you want?"
"An ending," the woman said. "The world is watching. They think you're both dead. But if you appear together — give a statement saying the leaks were fake, fabricated by enemies — everything resets. You get new names, new lives. Freedom."
Leonardo's jaw tightened. "And if we refuse?"
"Then you both stay ghosts. Buried under the ruins you built."
Amira met Leonardo's eyes. For the first time in months, she saw the flicker of fire there — not fear, but defiance.
He said quietly, "You can bury us. But the truth already lives."
The woman's smile faded. "Pity."
She turned to the guards. "End this."
Two of them stepped forward, rifles raised.
Amira reached for Leonardo's hand, gripping it tight. "I love you."
He smiled faintly, even as the lights flickered. "Then let's die loud."
⸻
Before the shots came, the lights went out.
A scream.
A crash.
A gunshot — but not aimed at them.
Then, chaos.
Smoke filled the room. Shadows moved fast — masked figures, silent, precise. One of them cut Amira's bindings, whispering, "We're here to get you out."
"Who are you?" she coughed.
"Friends of Elise," the voice said. "You sent the truth. We listened."
They dragged Leonardo up. He groaned but stayed standing. The woman in white shouted something — then another gun fired. The wall exploded near the door.
They ran through the smoke — down corridors, through alarms and red lights. The building shook with the chaos of its own secrets collapsing.
Outside, rain fell like cleansing fire.
Amira stumbled into the open air, gasping. A van waited. Hands pulled her in. The door slammed. The world blurred past — sirens fading into distance.
Leonardo leaned against her shoulder, bleeding but smiling weakly. "You still know how to make an exit."
She half-laughed, half-sobbed. "Shut up, Leo."
⸻
By dawn, they reached the outskirts of Rome. The city lay half-awake, half-ruined by the scandal still unraveling.
The man driving pulled down his mask — Daniel.
"You didn't think I'd die that easily, did you?" he said with a smirk.
Amira blinked in disbelief. "You're—"
"Alive. Again," he said dryly. "You two are terrible at staying dead."
Leonardo chuckled weakly. "You saved us."
Daniel's eyes darkened. "No. She saved us. The files she sent tore open the world. You're just the survivors."
He handed Amira a phone. "Listen carefully. What you exposed… was only one branch. There's still more. But you've done enough. The people need time to rebuild — to breathe."
She hesitated. "And us?"
Daniel's gaze softened. "Disappear. For real this time. Before someone else decides you're useful again."
Leonardo took her hand. "Let's go."
⸻
Weeks later, they lived by a quiet lake, deep in the Italian mountains.
No headlines, no sirens — only wind, firelight, and the sound of water against the shore.
Amira kept a journal — handwritten this time, no screens, no passwords. Every night she wrote one line at the top of the page:
"The truth lived."
Leonardo would read beside her, sometimes sketching instead of speaking. His scars had faded, but the haunted look remained — the kind that only people who've seen too much can carry.
One night, as snow fell outside, he asked softly, "Do you ever wish we'd stayed dead?"
She smiled faintly. "Sometimes. But then I remember — ghosts can't change the world."
He nodded. "And what are we now?"
She took his hand. "Something better. Survivors."
They sat in silence, the fire crackling between them.
And somewhere far away, sirens still wailed — not for them, but for the world still learning what truth costs.
⸻
Days turned into months.
One morning, a letter arrived — no sender, just a wax seal with a single emblem: a silver star.
Amira opened it carefully.
Inside was a single line, typed.
"The truth doesn't end. It evolves."
She looked at Leonardo. "It's starting again."
He smiled — tired, knowing. "Then we'll be ready."
Outside, the lake shimmered beneath the morning sun, bright and endless.
And for the first time in years, Amira didn't feel hunted.
She felt alive.