The small café on the corner of the city was nearly empty that night. Its dim yellow lights glowed softly against the rain-slicked windows, and the air was heavy with the mingled scents of coffee and fresh rainfall.

Liora sat by the window, her face half-hidden beneath the brim of a wide hat. A plain black coat cloaked her body, a far cry from the dazzling gowns she wore on camera. Tonight, she didn’t want anyone to recognize her.

Across the table sat a man in his early thirties. His eyes were sharp, though not unkind—Dimas, the independent journalist. Liora knew he wasn’t easily intimidated by power. Perhaps that was...