One.
Then another.
Then a cascade.
The office projection screen flares to life on its own, triggered by tribunal communications override protocols. A stream of red-coded alerts scrolls faster than the eye wants to track.
MEDIA UPTAKE SPIKE.
UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL FILE LEAK DETECTED.
SENATE COMMENTARY: TRIBUNAL NEUTRALITY QUESTIONED.
TRENDING HOLONET LABEL: “EMOTIONALLY COMPROMISED LIAISON.”
I feel my stomach drop.
Drax’s face does not change, but her eyes flick once to the topmost alert, and I see the moment she calculates the damage.
“What is that?” I ask, and my voice is too quiet.
Drax taps the screen with two fingers, expanding the media feed.
My name is there.
My face—official tribunal ID photograph, the one taken under harsh lighting that makes everyone look guilty—is there too, framed by sensational overlay graphics.
ARCHIVAL AIDE LOST PARENTS IN KIRELL DISASTER — CAN SHE BE NEUTRAL?
Below it, a senator’s clip plays on loop, their expression carefully outraged.
“This tribunal cannot be a revenge theater,” the senator says. “If staff assigned to prosecute Rhyx Varos have personal vendettas, then we risk delegitimizing the entire process.”
Another senator follows, voice oily with performative concern.
“We all grieve Kirell, but the tribunal must be above emotion. The people deserve objective justice, not personal catharsis.”
I stare at the projection until my eyes burn.
“Someone leaked my file,” I say, and it sounds absurdly simple compared to the chaos it implies.
“Yes,” Drax replies. “And they did so strategically.”
My hands unclasp behind my back without my permission. My fingers curl, then uncurl. “Who has access?”
Drax’s gaze sharpens. “Many people. That is the price of institutional scale. But the timing suggests intent.”
I swallow. The air feels too thin. “They’re trying to get me removed.”
“They are trying to control the narrative,” she corrects, and her voice is colder now, edged with irritation that is not directed at me so much as at the audacity of the move. “Your presence threatens a clean prosecution. If you are discredited, they can proceed without inconvenient questions.”
I hear my own voice before I think it through. “Because I flagged the timestamp.”
Drax’s eyes flick toward me. “Because youmightkeep digging.”
My chest tightens. The office seems suddenly too bright. The capital skyline beyond the window blurs slightly as my vision adjusts around the spike of adrenaline.
“What happens now?” I ask.
