Smoke and Silence
Bella didn't sleep that night.
She lay still, staring at the ceiling, listening to Mason's steady breathing beside her in the dark hotel room. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that should have been comforting. He looked peaceful. Trustworthy. The kind of man you'd want beside you in a war.
But she knew now, wars were where masks came off.
And some of the worst monsters held your hand while the sky burned.
She turned slightly, just enough to see his face in the dim light leaking through the curtains. The same face that had helped her escape, that had stood between her and bullets. But faces could lie. Hearts too.
By morning, the world was louder than ever.
There were breaking news segments, urgent press conferences, political resignations. Viral clips showed Bella's anonymous manifesto being read aloud by journalists in London, Nairobi, São Paulo. Commentators debated corruption. Protesters held up signs with Emily's name. The world was cracking open.
But Bella was quiet.
Watching.
Thinking.
She didn't confront Mason. Not yet.
She made a different call.
Two hours later, she sat in a corner booth of a quiet café in the heart of Lucerne. Snow drifted past the window. Across from her sat Karin Volmer, a wiry journalist from Der Spiegel—one of the first reporters Bella had sent Emily's files to. She was cautious, alert, her eyes scanning the café's sparse morning crowd.
"I'm risking a lot meeting you," Karin muttered, wrapping her coat tighter.
Bella didn't waste time. She slid an envelope across the table.
"This wasn't part of the original leak," she said. "I need you to verify it. Quietly."
Karin opened it.
Inside was the photo.
Lang. Emily. Mason.
Together. Laughing. Long before Mason had claimed to know anything.
Karin frowned. "You think your friend isn't who he says he is?"
Bella didn't hesitate. "I know he isn't. I just don't know who he really works for."
Karin nodded slowly. "If this checks out… it could change everything."
When Bella returned to the hotel, Mason was pacing.
He looked up the second she stepped through the door. "Where were you?" he asked, voice calm, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
"Walk," she lied smoothly. "Needed air."
His jaw unclenched. His posture relaxed, just enough.
And that's when she saw it.
Guilt.
Just a flicker. But it was there, behind the careful smile.
That night, Bella didn't sleep again. Instead, she copied everything.
The notebook. The drive. The raw, unedited files Emily had buried in subfolders named after childhood songs. She bundled them all into a padded envelope and addressed it to someone else Emily had once trusted, a hacker Bella had tracked through one of Emily's old aliases.
A backup plan.
Plan B.
Plan survive.
The next morning, Karin called. Her voice was hushed but firm.
"I ran the image through two databases," she said. "It's legit. Taken at a private fundraiser Lang hosted in Vienna, four and a half years ago."
Bella's heart sank.
Four and a half years.
That was a full year before Mason said he ever met Emily.
He hadn't just lied about the timeline.
He'd lied about everything.
She walked back into the hotel room, legs like lead. Her fingers trembled as she opened the door.
Mason was sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head down. He looked up when she entered.
"What's wrong?" he asked, brows furrowed with concern.
She sat across from him. Calm. Controlled. Her pulse a storm beneath the surface.
She pulled out the photo and tossed it onto the bed between them.
It landed face-up.
Mason's face froze.
Bella didn't blink.
"Start talking."