In the next forty-eight hours, retaliation hits. Amara’s personal info leaks online; anonymous messages escalate from words into threats. The city legal office formally demands she retract her findings, branding the leaked archive “fabricated.” She receives a court order blocking external communication.
Her emails to university contacts bounce. A server hosting her backup folder goes dark; a neighbor mentions seeing strangers near the house.
“Nail everything down,” Rhea advises, “and go analog for ops. We’ll meet in person for the next stretch. This is real now.”
Kelechi is followed returning from work but plays dumb. Amara sets up two mirrored data caches, moving everything onto encrypted flash drives.
Jax, calm but rattled, gets his phone temporarily disabled. “Good thing stories can travel faster than calls,” he texts.
The house smells of fear—Amara checks locks, windows, moves quietly, holding her phone close and her resolve closer.

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