The city moved like nothing had happened.

It always did.

Scandals faded. Headlines shifted. Names rose and fell in trending columns like temporary storms over permanent ground.

By midweek, Amara’s name was no longer dominating the front page.

It was mentioned.

Referenced.

Analyzed in calmer tones.

But the frenzy had cooled.

And the quiet that followed felt… strange.

Not empty.

Not victorious.

Just different.

Amara sat at a corner table in a small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist — a place far enough from the spotlight to breathe without being recognized every few minutes.

Jenna stirred her coffee absentmindedly, watching her over the rim of her cup....