Chapter 32 – The City That Watched Us Burn
The sun rose slowly, like the city was still holding its breath.
Bea stood by the cracked window, watching the light creep in. It painted her skin gold, her eyes full of shadows and dawn. Nova leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, just watching her.
"This city used to feel like a prison," Bea whispered.
Nova stepped closer. "Now?"
Bea turned to her. "Now it feels like a witness."
They had taken everything Lucien had thrown at them. Fire. Betrayal. Secrets so sharp they cut before they were even spoken. And they survived.
But now came the part no one warned you about—what happens after survival. What you do when the ashes cool.
"We need a plan," Bea said, rubbing her eyes. "Lucien might've pulled back, but he's not gone."
Nova nodded. "I've already started."
Bea's eyebrows rose. "Started what?"
Nova handed her a slim black journal. The cover was unmarked. But inside—
Names. Places. Transactions. Truths.
"It's everything I stole from him," Nova said. "Years of it. Hidden in places he never thought I'd look."
Bea flipped through, stunned. "This is enough to bury him."
Nova's smile was grim. "Or burn him."
"But it's not just him anymore," Bea whispered. "It's the whole system. The people who protected him. The ones who stayed quiet."
"I know."
"We'll be targets."
"We've always been targets."
The journal was heavy in Bea's hands. Not just from the weight of evidence—but the weight of possibility. What they could do with this.
Expose. Disrupt. Destroy.
They didn't want revenge. They wanted change.
"Are you scared?" Bea asked softly.
Nova walked over, cupped her face. "Not with you."
The next few days blurred into one long string of plans and codes and late-night phone calls. Nova called in old favors. Bea reached out to the silent allies who had once walked away, afraid of Lucien's wrath. This time, they were ready to stand.
The storm was coming again—but this time, they were the lightning.
At night, when the city slept and their war paused, Nova and Bea would lie curled together on the old mattress, fingers laced, bodies warm from something deeper than heat.
"I used to dream of escape," Bea said one night. "Of leaving everything behind."
Nova brushed hair from her cheek. "And now?"
"Now I dream of staying. But changing it all."
Nova kissed her slowly. "Then let's change it, love."
Outside, posters started appearing in alleyways. Whispers lit up the streets. Anonymous blogs leaked documents. Anonymous no longer.
The city looked up—and saw them.
Not as victims. Not as fugitives. As the voice it had been choking on.
Nova and Bea weren't hiding anymore.
They walked openly now. Their scars no longer shameful but sacred. Their story no longer buried but broadcasted.
The city that once watched them burn…
Was now watching them rise.
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