CHAPTER XXXII
The knock came at 4:17 a.m.
Three sharp taps.
Pause.
Then two more.
Khalid was already at the door, gun drawn. Elara held her breath.
Only one person knocked like that.
NUMA.
She looked thinner. Dark circles under her eyes, hair tied in a rush. She didn't speak until the door was locked behind her.
"They're hunting again."
Khalid frowned. "Targets?"
"Witnesses. Three down in the last week. All off-camera. All ruled suicides."
Elara's pulse thudded.
"Who's next?"
NUMA pulled a flash drive from her sleeve.
"Me."
They moved immediately.
Changed servers. Wiped drives. Burned the current Ashlist archive.
NUMA didn't ask questions. She worked in silence. Focused. Efficient.
But there was something off in her eyes.
A quiet resignation.
By noon, the tribunal livestream had been pulled offline in three countries. Social media bots flooded the tags with conspiracy bait.
"Whistleblowers or witches?"
"Daughters of Delusion."
"Was Amara even real?"
The damage was working.
The Council wasn't fighting the truth.
They were flooding it.
Halima sat by the window, watching shadows move across the alley.
"They won't stop until you're gone," she said.
Elara turned to her.
"They already tried."
Halima nodded. "So give them something else to chase."
Elara raised an eyebrow. "You?"
"No," Halima said. "A ghost."
That night, they faked Elara's death.
NUMA handled the details.
A fake coroner's report. A body burned beyond recognition.
Photos. Medical files. An anonymous leak.
By dawn, #ElaraBelloDead trended globally.
Her father released a statement:
"We grieve her.
She was misled by pain.
She deserved peace."
Elara stared at the screen in silence.
Khalid whispered, "You think he believes it?"
"No," she said. "But he wants the public to."
"Why?"
"So when I return, I'll look like a ghost."
They moved her to a basement in Agege. NUMA's final safehole.
No windows. No signal.
Just static-filled radios and an old mattress on the floor.
Khalid stayed above ground, directing traffic.
NUMA remained silent most of the day.
Elara finally broke the silence.
"You never planned to make it out, did you?"
NUMA didn't answer right away.
Then:
"I was never supposed to last this long."
Elara sat beside her.
"Why help me?"
NUMA looked at her.
"Because I met Amara once."
Elara blinked.
"She gave me a coat. Said I looked cold. That was it. Just… kindness. No camera. No reason."
She smiled softly. "That's why."
That night, the safehouse was too still.
Elara couldn't sleep.
She sat listening to the radio hum when it suddenly cut to static.
Then: a voice.
Distorted.
Repeating a name.
Khalid.
They called but he didn't answer.
NUMA ran the trace. Nothing.
Elara was already grabbing her coat.
"You're supposed to be dead," NUMA warned.
Elara didn't care.
The safehouse Khalid had moved to was empty.
Door kicked in. Maps scattered. A single bullet casing on the floor.
Elara stepped into the center of the room.
Silence.
Then her phone buzzed.
A video.
She opened it.
It was dark. Blurry.
Khalid. Blood on his temple. Tied to a chair. Breathing shallow.
A man stepped into the frame.
Ibrahim Bello.
Her father.
Smiling.
"Even ghosts bleed, Elara."
The video cut.
Elara stared at the black screen.
NUMA whispered, "They found him."
Elara's hands trembled.
Not with fear.
With fire.
She stood slowly.
"They want me to break."
NUMA shook her head. "They want you to choose."
Elara nodded.
"I've chosen."
She walked to the map, pulled off every red name.
Held them in one hand.
Lit a match.
Watched them burn.
"No more leaks.
No more whispers.
We're done haunting."
"It's time we hunted back."