Her Revenge
Every frantic call he made, every harsh command he barked at his staff, was a small triumph in her long-planned rebellion.
But even in the midst of her victory, a chill ran down her spine. In the solitude of her dimly lit balcony, where the city’s neon glow blurred with the stars above, she heard a sound—a whisper carried on the night wind. It was faint at first, almost like the rustle of leaves, but it carried a weight of foreboding. Aurora paused, the warm summer air suddenly turning icy around her. The voice, or perhaps it was the suggestion of a presence, murmured a single line: “You’ve just lit a fuse.”
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