Morning arrived without permission.
Lyra woke to the sound of her phone vibrating across the bedside table like a trapped insect. Notifications stacked over one another—messages, tags, missed calls, headlines multiplying in real time.
She didn't open anything.
She stared at the ceiling and tried to remember who she had been before strangers began narrating her life.
A knock sounded at her door.
Sharp. Urgent.
She opened it to find Mara, her manager, already pacing.
"Tell me you've seen it," Mara said.
"I've seen nothing," Lyra replied.
"Good. Don't. It's ugly."
Lyra took a breath. "Say it anyway."
Mara hesitated. "They've published a list. Anonymous artists allegedly funded by Helios. Your name is on it."
Lyra blinked. "I've never taken a cent from him."
"I know that. But facts aren't trending."
Lyra felt the now-familiar tightening in her chest. Not panic. Not quite. Something colder. Heavier.
A knock sounded again—louder this time.
Not Mara.
Security.
"They're outside," the guard said through the door. "Press."
Lyra closed her eyes.
"They're early," she whispered.
"They're hungry," Mara corrected.
---
Across the city, Aurelian watched the same list appear on three separate news feeds at once.
Coordinated.
Timed.
Engineered.
He didn't react outwardly, but the stillness around him deepened, like the moment before a storm recognizes itself.
"Sir," his assistant said carefully, "legal is asking if we should issue a statement."
"No," Aurelian replied.
"They're dragging her into this harder."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
"Then we should—"
"No."
The assistant fell silent.
Because this wasn't hesitation.
This was calculation.
---
Lyra stepped onto her balcony and looked down.
Cameras. Microphones. Faces tilted upward, waiting for a reaction she refused to give them.
She felt exposed.
Observed.
Turned into something consumable.
Her phone rang.
Aurelian.
She answered without speaking.
"You don't owe them anything," he said.
"I didn't do anything," she replied.
"I know."
A pause.
"Do you?" she asked quietly.
The question hung between them, heavier than she intended.
"Yes," he said.
And for some reason, that steadied her more than anything Mara had said all morning.
"They're saying you funded my last exhibition," she continued.
"I didn't."
"I know."
Silence again.
"They want you to deny it publicly," she said.
"They want me to panic publicly," he corrected.
Lyra leaned against the railing. "I don't know how to be this calm."
"You're not calm," Aurelian said. "You're controlled."
She almost smiled. "Is there a difference?"
"Yes. Control is chosen."
She let that settle.
"Loxley?" she asked.
"Almost certainly."
"Why me?"
"Because you're believable," he said. "And because you didn't run."
Lyra looked down at the crowd again. "I want to."
"I know."
---
By afternoon, the story had mutated.
Old photos resurfaced. Misleading timelines. Anonymous quotes from "industry insiders."
Lyra watched herself become a fictional character.
She stopped recognizing the person they were describing.
Mara turned off the TV. "You need to disappear for a few days."
"I didn't do anything wrong," Lyra said.
"That's not the point."
Lyra's voice dropped. "I'm tired of hiding from lies."
Mara softened. "This isn't hiding. It's surviving."
---
Aurelian made a call he had been avoiding.
"Find the source," he told his head of security. "Not the publication. The leak."
"That may take time."
"I have time," Aurelian said.
What he didn't have was patience.
---
That evening, Lyra left her apartment for the first time all day.
No makeup. No disguise. Just a hoodie and exhaustion.
She walked without direction, needing air that hadn't passed through screens first.
Her phone buzzed again.
A message from the same unknown number.
You still think this is random?
Her steps slowed.
Another message.
He's using you to get to him.
Lyra's throat tightened.
Ask Aurelian about the summit guest list.
She stopped walking entirely.
Because for the first time—
Doubt slipped in.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just quiet enough to be dangerous.
---
Aurelian's phone rang as he stood alone in his office, city lights reflecting off the glass walls.
Lyra.
He answered immediately.
"Were you involved in choosing who attended the summit?" she asked.
The question caught him off guard.
"Yes," he said. "Partially. Why?"
"Did you know I'd be there?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Lyra's grip tightened around her phone.
"Why?"
"Because your work aligned with the theme," he said calmly.
"That's not what I asked."
He exhaled slowly.
"No," he said. "I didn't invite you for this."
"For what?"
"For proximity."
Silence fell heavy between them.
"Lyra—"
"Did you think meeting me would be useful?" she asked.
"Yes," he said honestly.
Her chest tightened.
"Useful how?"
"I thought you'd be interesting," he replied.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have that isn't calculated."
She didn't know whether that made it better or worse.
"Someone's texting me," she said. "Saying I'm a pawn."
Aurelian's voice shifted—colder. "Forward me the number."
"You didn't answer me."
"I am now," he said. "You are not a pawn."
"But I was an opportunity," she whispered.
Aurelian didn't speak.
Because this time—
She was right.