The room was too cold. Not from the air conditioning, but from the silence. The kind of quiet that vibrated beneath the skin, waiting to erupt. Twelve chairs surrounded the conference table, all occupied by men and women who hadn't dared speak Brenner's name in months. Now they were looking him straight in the eye, papers in hand, proof on screen. And for the first time in years, he didn't hold the room. He was still. Composed, yes, but something in his eyes had shifted. Like he already knew this was the beginning of the end.
Nora stood on the other side of the glass. She hadn't been invited, but she didn't need to be. She didn't move, didn't speak. Just watched. Her breath slow. Her spine straight. She had fought so long for this moment, dreamed about it in the quiet of sterile nights. But now that it was happening, there was no victory in her face. Just clarity. Finally, they weren't talking about her temper, her obsessions, her mistakes. They were talking about him. About Brenner. About Lily.
The footage was projected at the front of the room grainy but undeniable. Gracie Keane, holding a file, her voice shaking but determined. Brenner beside her, calm, dismissive. The silence between them louder than any outburst. Nora watched one of the board members shift uncomfortably in his seat. Another rubbed the bridge of his nose. For years, they had chosen to forget. Now they were being forced to remember.
When the chairman finally spoke, his voice was formal, but it trembled at the edges. "In light of the new evidence and the ethical concerns it raises, Dr. Brenner will be placed on administrative suspension, effective immediately. An independent investigation will follow."
There was no applause. No reaction at all. Just a single, collective breath - the sound of something breaking.
In the corner of the room, Rowan remained standing. He had refused a seat. His arms were crossed, his jaw tense, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke. "For years, you told us that silence meant strength. That we shouldn't question the system, only serve it. But now, that silence is the reason you're alone." His words weren't loud, but they landed hard. Brenner didn't reply. Didn't even look at him. The man who had built a fortress out of control and reputation had finally met a wall he couldn't climb.
Outside, Nora turned and walked away.
Elias found her hours later, sitting alone in one of the smaller lounges on the second floor, where the lights flickered every few seconds and the vending machine had been broken since January. She didn't look up when he walked in. He stood in front of her, disheveled, uncertain, and for once, without any mask.
"I'm out," he said.
"Suspended?"
"Voluntary leave. That's the phrasing they're using." He exhaled through his nose. "They need distance. A clean cut. I'm collateral."
She closed the folder in her lap and finally met his gaze. "You chose his side, Elias. And now you're paying the price."
He didn't deny it. Didn't offer excuses. Just nodded.
"I thought staying silent meant staying safe," he admitted. "But it doesn't. It only made me complicit."
She didn't offer him comfort. But she didn't turn away either.
"That's how rot spreads," she said. "From the inside."
He left without saying goodbye.
That evening, Rowan caught up with her outside the stairwell. She was about to descend to the archive room when he reached for her wrist, gently, without force.
"They took his name off the welcome board."
"Good," she replied.
"He's still fighting. Lawyers. Contacts. Whatever allies he has left."
"Let him," she said calmly. "Let him fight like we did. Without power. Without protection."
He didn't let go of her hand right away. His eyes searched hers, not for forgiveness, not this time, but for strength.
"They'll come for you next," he warned.
She took a slow breath, the kind that came after battle and before the next.
"I'm not afraid anymore," she said.
And for the first time since Lily died, it was the truth.