For the first time in weeks, Lena slept.
Not deeply. Not dreamlessly. But without fear clawing at her throat. Her body had reached a kind of stillness, like it finally understood that she had survived something—again.
By the time sunlight broke through the curtains, her phone was already vibrating with notifications. Dozens of them. Messages poured in from journalists, donors, friends, and followers from around the globe. Her inbox was a scroll of validation.
Kenny had texted at 4:00 a.m.:
“#ReceiptsFromLena is trending in 14 countries. You broke the internet. Also, call me when you wake. I want to hug your face.”
Lena smiled to herself as she rolled onto her side. There was pride in her chest—but also a cautious awareness.
The trap had worked. But rats never stopped scurrying. They just changed direction.
Carson entered the room with two cups of coffee, his expression relaxed for the first time in days.
“You shattered them,” he said, setting the cup on her nightstand.
“They’ll regrou
