The sirens hadn't stopped.
They screamed through the distance like ghosts who'd forgotten how to rest. The storm that swallowed the coast hours ago hadn't relented either—its rain now a curtain of silver fury, washing away footprints, evidence, everything.
But not the blood.
Amira's fingers were still stained crimson. She didn't know if it was his or hers anymore.
She crouched in the back of the armored van, wrists bound, drenched, shaking—but her eyes were dry. She'd run out of tears the moment Leonardo stopped breathing.
Every jolt of the van made her heart slam harder against her ribs. Through the small grated window, she saw nothing—just darkness and rain slicing through the headlights behind them.
Across from her sat a man in a black uniform, silent, rifle slung lazily against his shoulder. His name tag read K. HART. His eyes, however, looked like they hadn't belonged to a man in years.
Amira whispered, "Where are you taking me?"
He didn't respond.
She leaned forward slightly, her voice trembling but edged. "You work for her, don't you? The woman in white."
That made him look up. "You talk too much."
Amira smiled faintly. "Then shoot me. At least that would be honest."
For a second, his jaw tightened—as if something flickered behind his blankness—but then he looked away again.
The van hit a bump, and she nearly fell. Her head throbbed where the butt of a rifle had struck earlier. Somewhere between the noise and the rain, she could still hear Leonardo's last words—Promise me.
She had.
And promises were the only thing she had left.
⸻
They arrived at dawn.
The world outside was a fog-drenched compound—fences, towers, the faint hum of surveillance drones. It wasn't a prison, not exactly. It was quieter, cleaner, crueler.
A sign near the gate read only:
"Division E – Containment Facility."
Two guards dragged her out. Her bare feet hit the cold concrete, splashing in puddles. The air smelled of ozone and metal.
The woman in white was waiting by the entrance, umbrella in hand, perfectly untouched by the storm.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rossi," she said smoothly. "I trust the trip wasn't too uncomfortable."
Amira glared. "You could've sent flowers too. Maybe a coffin, since you seem fond of burying things."
A faint smirk. "You're still amusing. That's rare here."
Amira's wrists were unbound, but only because two guards flanked her, their hands on her shoulders.
The woman in white—Dr. Celene Ward, as Amira later learned—walked ahead gracefully. "Follow me. We have… arrangements to discuss."
They entered a hallway lined with glass. Behind each pane was a small white room—some occupied. Men and women sat inside, staring blankly, eyes flickering as if under hypnosis.
Amira slowed. "What is this place?"
Celene didn't answer until they reached an elevator. "A sanctuary for inconvenient truths," she said finally. "You'd be surprised how many people the world forgets to remember."
The elevator doors opened soundlessly. They descended. The air grew colder.
When the doors slid open again, Amira saw it—rows of servers glowing blue, humming softly. A data vault.
"This," Celene said, "is where the world's secrets go to die."
Amira stared, pulse quickening. "You keep everything here?"
"Every leak, every confession, every file too dangerous for public eyes." Celene turned to her, smile tightening. "Including yours."
⸻
They led Amira to a small interrogation room—no windows, one table, two chairs, a single camera blinking red in the corner.
Celene placed a thin folder before her. "Do you know why you're still alive, Amira?"
Amira's voice was quiet. "Because you want something."
Celene's eyes glimmered. "Exactly. You're smart. That's why Leonardo chose you."
The mention of his name made Amira's throat tighten. "Don't say his name."
Celene ignored it, opening the folder. Inside were photos—grainy surveillance stills of Leonardo and Amira together, months before the leaks. Cafés. Hotels. The motel where they'd first hidden.
"You didn't just love him," Celene said. "You believed him. You helped him. You gave him what he couldn't get himself—credibility. Emotion. A cause."
Amira's eyes flashed. "You murdered his sister."
Celene's smile didn't falter. "Elise was reckless. She went digging where she shouldn't. Just like you."
"You call truth reckless?"
"I call it expensive." Celene leaned closer, her perfume sharp and cold. "And every truth has to be paid for by someone."
Amira met her gaze. "Then send me the bill."
For the first time, Celene's composure cracked—a flicker of irritation. "You think you've already won, don't you? That your little upload changed the world. It didn't. The moment your power cut, we intercepted your line. The file never reached the global servers."
Amira's stomach dropped. "You're lying."
Celene smirked. "Am I?"
She pressed a button on the table. The screen on the wall lit up—showing a frozen upload bar, forever stuck at 73%.
Amira's heart sank.
Her voice trembled. "That's not possible. I— I sent a backup."
Celene tilted her head. "Yes. To a secondary route. The question is… where?"
She leaned in. "Tell me where you sent it, and I'll let you walk out of here. Disappear again. Quietly."
Amira smiled faintly, though her pulse raced. "You already know the answer."
Celene frowned. "Do I?"
Amira whispered, "It's still out there. And when it goes live, you'll wish you'd buried yourself instead."
Celene straightened, mask sliding back into place. "We'll see."
She turned to leave—but paused at the door. "Oh, and Mrs. Rossi?"
Amira looked up.
"You're not the only survivor of that night."
The door closed.
⸻
Hours later, a guard entered with food—if you could call it that. He placed the tray down silently, but lingered.
Amira looked up. "You're not supposed to talk to me, are you?"
He hesitated, then whispered, "You don't remember me, do you?"
Her eyes narrowed.
He pulled down his cap slightly, enough for the dim light to touch his face. A faint scar across his temple.
Recognition hit her like lightning. "Luca?"
Luca Donati. He'd been part of Leonardo's old security detail—loyal, quiet, the kind who noticed everything but said nothing. He was supposed to be dead, shot in Milan months before.
Amira's voice broke. "They said—"
"They said a lot of things," he cut in quietly. "Keep your voice down. There are mics everywhere."
Her hands trembled. "Leo—he's gone."
Luca's jaw tightened. "I know. I saw the reports. But there's something you need to understand—Leonardo planned for this."
Her breath caught. "What do you mean?"
"He knew Celene wouldn't let you live if the leak went through. So he built a failsafe. Something only you could trigger."
Amira's mind raced. "The backup?"
He nodded once. "But it's hidden inside something you'd never suspect."
She leaned forward. "Tell me."
He hesitated, glancing at the camera. "Not now. Tonight. When the guards rotate, I'll come back. Be ready."
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.
⸻
Night fell heavy.
Amira sat in the dark, heart pounding. Every second stretched thin, the silence thick enough to choke on.
Then—footsteps.
The door creaked open, and Luca slipped inside. He closed it behind him quietly, shutting out the world.
"Where is it?" she whispered.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small locket—tarnished silver, shaped like a rose.
Amira froze. "That's mine."
He nodded. "Leonardo gave it to me before—before Florence. He said if anything happened to him, you'd know what to do."
Her hands shook as she took it. The metal was cold, familiar. She pressed the clasp—and it clicked twice.
A small microchip slid out from the hinge.
Luca said, "It's encrypted. But the coordinates inside point to a relay server—offshore, deep-net protected. If you access it, the real data goes public. Everything. Every name."
Amira's heart thudded. "Then that's what we'll do."
He hesitated. "Amira… if you do this, there's no coming back. Celene won't stop hunting you."
She met his gaze. "She already took everything. What else can she take?"
Luca exhaled, something almost like respect in his eyes. "Then let's move."
⸻
They slipped out through the lower levels. The compound was a maze—sterile corridors, flickering lights, cameras that hummed quietly like insects.
At one point, they froze as two guards passed. Luca signaled her to wait, his hand hovering near his sidearm. When the path cleared, they moved again—fast, silent, deliberate.
Finally, they reached the server room.
Amira's pulse raced as the doors slid open. The blue light of thousands of data drives pulsed like a heartbeat.
"This is it," Luca said. "Once we connect that chip, the relay will activate remotely."
She nodded, sliding the microchip into the nearest console. The screen lit up:
"Authentication required — Voice Key Access."
She frowned. "Voice key?"
Luca looked uneasy. "Leonardo's biometric was the original key."
Her chest tightened. "Then we're locked out."
"Not exactly."
He pulled out a small black device. "He left this too—recorded phrase. Might work."
He pressed play.
Leonardo's voice filled the air, soft, broken, alive again:
"For truth, for her, for all the things they thought they could bury."
The screen blinked. Then—access granted.
The upload began.
Amira watched the numbers climb—5%… 30%… 60%… Her breath hitched with every digit.
Then an alarm blared.
"Unauthorized transmission detected."
Red lights flared through the room.
"Move!" Luca shouted.
He yanked the chip, pocketing it. "We'll finish the upload remotely!"
They ran—through hallways now echoing with boots and shouts. The storm outside raged harder, thunder shaking the windows.
At the exit, a group of guards blocked the way. Luca fired first—precise, controlled. Amira ducked, heart hammering.
They burst into the rain, sprinting across the yard toward the fence.
"Almost there!" Luca yelled.
A spotlight hit them. Gunfire erupted.
Luca stumbled—hit. He dropped to his knees, clutching his side.
"No!" Amira screamed, pulling at him.
He pushed the chip into her palm, blood mixing with rain. "Run, Amira. Don't stop."
"I can't leave you!"
"You can—and you must." His voice shook, but his eyes burned steady. "Make it mean something."
Then he shoved her toward the fence.
She climbed, slipping on wet steel, the storm roaring. Behind her, more shots. She didn't look back. Couldn't.
By the time she reached the road, her lungs were fire. Her dress was torn, her feet raw, her hands clutching the chip like salvation.
⸻
She didn't stop running until she reached the coast again—the same place it all began.
The lighthouse loomed ahead, half-ruined, forgotten. Perfect.
Inside, she found an old transmitter, rusted but functional. It would be enough.
She slid the chip in. The screen flickered to life.
The upload resumed.
20%… 50%… 91%…
Outside, sirens again. Headlights cutting through the fog.
Amira stood in the storm, wind ripping through her hair, watching as the bar reached—
100%.
The transmitter beeped once.
And the world changed again.
⸻
Hours later, news feeds across continents erupted.
Governments collapsed overnight. Celene Ward's face filled every screen—her empire exposed, her crimes undeniable.
The Division E facility was raided by international forces. Detainees were freed.
And among them, bruised but alive, a man named Luca Donati whispered one thing to the reporters—
"The truth doesn't die with the dead. It hides in those who remember."
⸻
By the time dawn came, Amira was gone again—vanished into mist and myth.
Some said she drowned in the storm.
Others said she was seen boarding a freighter to Greece, under another name.
But one rumor persisted.
That sometimes, when the sea was calm and the air smelled of rain, a woman stood by the shore—watching the waves as if waiting for someone she loved to come home.
And if you listened closely, beneath the crash of the tide, you could almost hear her whisper—
"The truth lived."