That night, a light rain fell, making the city streets shimmer beneath the headlights of passing cars. Lyra sat inside her car, parked a few blocks from the safehouse where Arga and his team were hiding. Her hand clutched tightly around an envelope—inside were copies of financial records linking Devandra’s shell companies to offshore accounts.

She knew that if these papers reached Arga, Devandra’s empire would shake. But the risk was clear: her own identity would be exposed.

Lyra drew in a long breath, staring at her own reflection in the rearview mirror. You have to move, Lyra. If you’re too late, Devandra will find you first.

She grabbed a...