The apartment felt too quiet after Connor left.Kirra tried not to notice how the silence crawled along the walls, how every creak of the floorboard made her glance up like he might suddenly appear in the doorway. His jacket still hung on the back of a chair. His coffee mug was still in the sink. But the space he occupied that steady gravity he carried, was gone, and without it, everything felt off balance.She had tried calling twice. No answer. A single text....Be careful had been marked as “delivered” but not read.By the second evening, she gave up pretending she wasn’t worried.The television was on mute, looping footage of downtown protests and financial news. Her name scrolled across the ticker again and again… Kirra Waratah, formerly Kuranda, now being whispered about in connection to “a potential misuse of financial assets during the Kuranda estate arbitration.”Her stomach knotted as the camera cut to the Kuranda mansion. Her aunt, Kakadu, stood on the steps, speaking tearfu

The committee summons came faster than expected.A single white envelope, heavy with embossed lettering and menace, arrived the next morning, delivered not by post, but by a courier who didn’t bother to meet their eyes.Kirra watched Connor slit it open at the kitchen counter. His expression didn’t change as he read, and he slid the paper toward her.“By order of the Regional Financial Ethics Committee, you are required to appear for questioning regarding alleged misconduct and obstruction of funds investigation.”At the bottom, it was signed by Elder Venn.Kirra’s pulse thundered. “He didn’t waste any time.”Connor folded the paper neatly. “He wants to control the narrative, fine. Let him think he can.”By the time they reached the glass building that housed the committee offices, camera crews waited outside, flashing like a storm as they climbed the steps.Reporters shouted questions, accusations dressed as inquiries. “Ms. Waratah, is it true your husband used false credentials to

Kirra hadn’t slept the whole night, not even for a moment. Her eyes burned as she watched the sun drag itself over the horizon, cutting through the blinds and striping the floor in gold and ash. Connor was still at the desk, in the same chair, with the same posture. The laptop glowed pale blue on his face, throwing sharp shadows that made him more tired.“Did you even move?” she asked quietly.His reply came without looking up. “Did you?”It wasn’t meant to sting, but it did.Kirra rubbed her arms and crossed to the kitchen. The silence between them was thick; not angry, but charged, heavy with the things neither of them knew how to say. Coffee hissed into the mug, but the smell didn’t comfort her. “Connor,” she said after a while, “what happens if this goes public?”“It already is.”“I mean really public,” she pressed. “If the committee finds out, if the Department starts to investigate. We’ll be the ones on trial before they even read the evidence.”He leaned back finally, eyes s

The summons for Connor came two days later.It wasn’t a letter this time, but it was delivered in person.A government sedan pulled up outside their apartment building, its mirrored windows reflecting the morning light. Two officers stepped out — not soldiers, not enforcers, but the kind of men who looked like they’d been chosen for their ability to smile while delivering bad news.“Mr. Waratah?” one of them said politely.Connor didn’t answer at first. He’d already seen the insignia on their lapels — Office of Financial Integrity. A branch that answered not to justice, but to whoever signed their bonuses.Kirra appeared at his shoulder. “You don’t have to go with them. Not without counsel.”Connor turned to her, his expression unreadable. “If I don’t go now, they’ll drag me later. This way, I choose the road.”“Connor—”He touched her wrist gently, grounding her. “Stay here. Don’t open the door for anyone who doesn’t bleed.”Then, to the officers: “Let’s not waste time.”The interrog

Kirra woke up to the faint hum of the laptop still open on the desk. Connor hadn’t slept. His shoulders were rigid, his jaw locked in focus. A half-empty cup of coffee sat beside him, forgotten.She wrapped the blanket tighter around her and walked closer. “You’ve been up all night again.”He didn’t answer right away, his eyes scanning something on the screen. Then, in that low, even tone that meant he was already ten steps ahead, he said, “They’ve started the counter.”“What does that mean?”“It means,” he exhaled, sitting back, “Joyce Holdings just bought silence.”She frowned. “I don’t understand.”He turned the screen toward her. A live news broadcast flickered—one of the city’s biggest networks. Her face was on the screen. Her. The caption below burned in red:“Tribunal Insider Linked to National Data Breach — Suspect at Large.”Kirra’s knees went weak. “No… no, that’s—”“They’ve pinned the leak on you,” Connor said quietly.Her pulse pounded in her ears. “But you said they could