The moment the first headline hit, the media room exploded into motion. Phones rang shrill against the rising tide of voices, the sharp buzz of notifications stacked in rapid succession, and the air itself seemed to thicken, saturated with adrenaline. Lottie stood at the center of it all, a still point in the storm, fingers curled around the cool edge of the table, the cold metal biting faintly into her skin as though to remind her—this was real. Her eyes flicked across the sea of monitors, every frame flickering with updates, every headline a challenge or a weapon.
"Here we go," Leo muttered, fingers flying across the keyboard, his shoulders hunched in tight concentration. The light from the screens glinted against his glasses, throwing sharp angles over his face. "They dropped the leak. But…" His mouth curved into a sharp, satisfied smirk as numbers began crawling upward on his screen. "We're already two steps ahead."
Mason's voice cut through the din, low and smooth, the kind of voice that carried without needing to rise. "You're up, Lottie. Time to flip the script." He pushed away from the edge of the table, hands sliding into his pockets as he tilted his head toward the main feed. The wolfish gleam in his eyes made her pulse jump. "Let them see what a real counterstrike looks like."
Lottie took in a slow breath, the cool air slicing down her throat, clearing the thickness lodged in her chest. She nodded once, precise and deliberate, then reached for the mic. As her fingers closed around the slim handle, Amy materialized at her elbow, the faint scent of coffee and soap clinging to her skin, tablet clutched so tightly her knuckles paled.
"The Q&A lineup's ready," Amy said, her voice tight, the undercurrent of nerves threading through every syllable. "We've got the soft questions first, then the hits, and…" Her gaze darted to Lottie's face, wide and uncertain. "Lottie, are you sure we're ready for this?"
For a beat, Lottie just looked at her, the chaotic heartbeat of the room echoing around them. Then, gently, she placed a hand on Amy's shoulder, her fingers firm, cool. She felt the slight tremble in Amy's frame, the tight coil of anxiety singing just beneath the surface. "We're ready." Her voice was soft, certain, and as it settled between them, Amy's breath hitched, a shaky exhale slipping free as the tightness in her shoulders eased.
Lottie turned toward the cameras, the control room dimming around her as the bright monitors framed her in stark relief. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the polished glass wall—poised, composed, a razor blade wrapped in silk. Just outside the camera's frame, Adrian stood, arms folded, his gaze locked on her. The faintest curve softened his mouth, a flicker of something like admiration hidden in the sharp lines of his face.
Across the city, Evelyn watched the chaos unfold on three separate screens, her apartment plunged in shadow except for the flicker of cold blue light washing over her skin. Her fingers dug into the armrest of the leather chair, tendons straining tight under pale skin, breath rasping sharp and shallow as the swell of public sympathy slid away from her in real time. "No, no, no…" she hissed, the words barely audible over the rush of blood in her ears. Her phone buzzed against the table, screen lighting up with calls she didn't answer. Her PR director's voice crackled in her ear—half excuses, half panic—but it blurred into static, drowned out by the roaring in her head.
Lottie's voice flowed over the airwaves, smooth as silk, cool as steel. "Today's leak is nothing more than an attempt to distract from what matters: integrity, accountability, and the future we are all building together." Her fingers brushed the edge of the podium, nails pressing faint crescents into the wood, the bite a quiet anchor that kept her centered. The room held its breath, the faint buzz of equipment the only sound as the cameras pushed in closer, catching the flicker of light in her eyes, the sharp focus in the set of her mouth.
Amy stood just offstage, wringing her hands, heart hammering against her ribs as she mouthed silent encouragement. Her fingers trembled against the tablet clutched to her chest, her pulse singing with a jittery blend of terror and awe. Behind her, Mason prowled along the back wall, phone pressed to his ear, voice a low rumble of updates fed to allies across the building. His smile sharpened as Leo's voice crackled into Lottie's earpiece: "Social sentiment just spiked. Evelyn's hashtags are tanking. You're pulling ahead."
A flicker of heat surged through Lottie's chest, a sharp snap of exhilaration that cracked against the inside of her ribs. But she kept her smile steady, her gaze calm as she turned into the barrage of questions, each one a sharp edge she caught and bent with careful precision. "We remain committed to transparency," she said softly, the corners of her mouth lifting just slightly as her eyes flicked from reporter to camera. "We will not be derailed by baseless noise."
In Evelyn's apartment, the air seemed to shudder as she slammed the laptop shut, the crack loud enough to rattle the crystal on the bar cart. Her breath hitched, a jagged sound that tore from her throat as she shoved herself to her feet, pacing the length of the room in sharp, staccato strides. Her foresight flared—flickers of Lottie's face lit by cameras, headlines splintering into triumph and loss, Robert's disappointed gaze heavy across her shoulders. Evelyn's hands trembled as she pressed them to her temples, teeth gritted against the tidal wave of visions. "This isn't over," she snarled to the empty room, voice raw, shaking, a snarl of sound more animal than human.
Back at headquarters, Adrian moved to Lottie's side as the cameras cut away, his voice a low hum just behind her ear. "You just bought us breathing room," he murmured, the faintest brush of his fingers at her elbow grounding her, settling the restless thrum under her skin.
Lottie turned, her lips curving into a faint, razor-edged smile, the adrenaline still bright in her blood. "I don't intend to let it slip." Her voice was soft, but the steel in it rang clear.
Amy darted forward, eyes wide and shining, voice trembling on the edge of giddy laughter. "The numbers are climbing so fast—the media's already pivoting." Her fingers clutched the tablet so tightly the casing creaked faintly under the pressure. "You did it, Lottie. You're turning it around." The breathless awe in her voice pulled a fleeting warmth to Lottie's face, a ghost of something soft brushing past the razor wire of her focus.
Mason sauntered over, a grin tugging at his mouth, eyes sharp and glinting. "Not bad, Hayes," he drawled, the satisfaction in his voice a smooth, dangerous thing. "But Evelyn's not going to roll over. She's too desperate now." His hand brushed Lottie's shoulder in a brief, grounding weight, fingers cool through the thin fabric of her blouse.
Across the city, Robert Hayes sat in the deep hush of his study, fingers steepled under his chin as the glow of newsfeeds flickered over his impassive face. His advisors murmured at the edges of the room, their voices low and urgent, but his gaze remained fixed on the image of Lottie holding the line, his jaw tightening once, a flicker of something unreadable sliding through his eyes.
As the Q&A wrapped, Lottie stepped back from the podium, breath shuddering out in a slow, deliberate exhale. Her pulse still thudded against the walls of her chest, each beat sharp, alive, trembling with the residue of the fight. Amy was there in an instant, pressing a bottle of water into her hands, her own fingers brushing lightly against Lottie's in a silent, shaky squeeze. "You were brilliant," Amy whispered, voice thick with adrenaline, eyes bright and wet. "They never stood a chance."
Leo's voice hummed in Lottie's ear, the faint crackle of static lacing through the quiet triumph. "We're number one worldwide," he murmured. "Evelyn's trending, but for all the wrong reasons."
Outside, the city pulsed with restless energy—headlights sweeping past glass towers, the sharp glow of phones lighting countless hands, feeds buzzing with speculation, praise, fury. The hum of the world gathered at the edges of the night, pressing in close, hungry for the next move.
Evelyn stood at the window of her apartment, her reflection fractured across the dark glass, the thin silver lines of her face etched sharp against the night. Her fists clenched tight at her sides, nails biting into her palms as her lips twisted in a sharp, bitter smile. "This isn't over," she whispered, the words slipping like venom into the stillness, curling in the hush like smoke.
And as Lottie leaned back against the edge of the stage, drawing in a slow, centering breath, the weight of the moment settled over her—not as a burden, but as a promise. Her fingers brushed the faintly trembling edge of the podium, a quiet pulse beneath her skin as the sound of the room swelled around her. The rush of adrenaline, the crackling edge of anticipation, the knowledge that the war was still waiting on the horizon—it thrummed through her like a second heartbeat, and in that breath, that beat, that blade-thin stretch of calm, Lottie smiled.