Tanya was there, her eyes red, her hands shaking: “We didn’t know,” she said, like it was a defense.
Elliot just sat there, his sunglasses forgotten on the table.
A junior staffer, the same one who’d spoken up before, muttered: “You didn’t care to know.”
No one argued with him. Lysandra was back in her hotel room, her notebook open on the desk.
She wasn’t writing, just sitting, staring out at the city lights. Her phone buzzed. Claire again: “They’re begging now.”
The text read. “Gavin’s offering to resign.” Lysandra didn’t answer right away.
She thought of her mom years ago, standing in their old kitchen, her hands rough from years of work.
“Don’t let them make you small, Lys,” she’d said. “You’re bigger than their words.”
Lysandra had nodded, her teenage self unsure, but listening. Now she typed back: “Let them come to me.”
