The first thing Amara lost wasn’t power.

It was time.

Not all at once — not dramatically — but in fragments that slipped through her fingers while she fought fires she hadn’t started. Meetings stretched longer. Emails multiplied. Decisions she once made instinctively now required committees, approvals, signatures from people who had never built anything but opinions.

Suspension didn’t remove her from the foundation.

It slowed her.

And Lana understood exactly what that meant.

Amara sat at her kitchen table before sunrise, laptop open, notes spread out in careful rows. She’d slept maybe three hours. Her body felt hollowed out, like something vital had been scooped from the inside and...