LUSTBORN
“That’s a lie! Elara wrote that book! She…..”
“Please remain seated,” the host snapped, panic slipping into his voice.
Elara swallowed.
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Then the projector flickered.
The room stilled.
The screen behind the host glitched, once, twice, before changing entirely.
The book cover vanished.
Instead, messages appeared.
Private messages.
Dates. Times. Screenshots.
Sylvia’s name at the top of every thread.
Gasps rippled through the audience.
“What is this?” the host whispered.
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