The silence after the press conference didn’t feel like peace.

It felt like the held breath before something shattered.

Amara sensed it the moment she woke the next morning — not dread exactly, but vigilance. The kind that sat between her shoulder blades, sharp and alert, reminding her that survival wasn’t over just because she had spoken her truth.

Truth, she was learning, didn’t end wars.

It escalated them.

She stood by the window of her apartment, coffee untouched, watching the city stretch into morning. New York moved like nothing had happened. People hurried. Cars honked. Life continued.

But beneath that rhythm, something had shifted.

Her phone buzzed.

Not messages....