THE COUNCIL
“The problem has been contained.”
The words cut through the low hum of conversation, pulling the room’s attention back to the present.
Tate didn’t look up. He ran a slow thumb over the rim of his glass, watching the firelight flicker in the deep amber liquid. He was in no hurry.
One of his aides, a nervous man with a too-tight tie, cleared his throat. “The rally page was compromised for just under forty minutes before we restored it.”
Selene set her tablet down, tapping her fingers against the table.
“It wasn’t just a hack,” she murmured. “It was a message.”
That got Tate’s attention. His expression was more amused than irritated. “Someone got cocky.”
“They did more than that.” One of the tech advisors scrolled through a tablet, face tight. “They redirected traffic, changed the RSVP system, added calls to action for protests at the Capitol.” A beat. “They also uploaded stories, photos, years of marriage…”
Porter scoffed. “Stories? Jesus. What do they think this is, a funeral?”
Selene arched a brow. “To them, it is.”
The comment sparked a few chuckles. But not from Tate.
He swirled his drink, watching the ice shift. “It doesn’t matter. It’s fixed now.”
Selene tilted her head slightly, considering him. “It matters more than you think.”
He waited.
She leaned forward, lacing her fingers under her chin. “I went to Birkenbrew before the repeal was announced.”
Porter frowned slightly. “You went?”
Selene gave him a look that shut him up immediately. “Yes. It’s what we should be doing. Listening. Watching.” She let the moment stretch before continuing. “One woman in particular knew more than she should.”
Tate’s smirk faded slightly. “Knew what?”
Selene let the question linger, letting its weight settle in the room.
“Details. About what happens behind these doors.”
A pen clicked too hard against the table—a barely-there breath of tension.
Selene continued, voice calm, measured. “She knew before it was announced. Before anything was even finalized. I think someone on the inside has been feeding information to her.”
“Who was she?” Tate’s expression didn’t change, but Selene caught the flicker—a slight twitch in his jaw.
The murmurs around the table faded.
Because Selene wasn’t in the room anymore.
She was back at Birkenbrew.
Back in that too-loud bar, watching Eden.
Selene had read her name in a dozen security briefings. She was a whisper in political circles, flagged in reports, a troublemaker, a strategist, connected, relentless.
But seeing her—hearing her—made her different.
There was something about how Eden carried herself—the stillness of someone who already knew how the room would move.
Selene had spent her career around powerful men. Men who liked to puff up and perform. Eden wasn’t like them. She wasn’t bluffing. She wasn’t even angry.
She was measuring.
And Selene couldn’t stop thinking about it.
She should’ve said the name. Just said it—Eden Embry—and let the machine do what it does. Tate would bury her.
A scandal. A takedown. Quiet. Efficient. Permanent.
And if Eden was behind the hack?
That would be it. Game over.
Selene had never hesitated before. Not once.
So why now?
Why was her mouth suddenly dry? Why did it feel like saying Eden’s name out loud would do something irreversible?
She wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
Because she wanted to know what Eden was waiting for.
She blinked. Tilted her head just slightly.
“I don’t know,” she said smoothly. “I didn’t recognize her.”
A pause.
Then, Tate nodded. Satisfied.
Selene tapped her fingers against the table again, forcing her thoughts back into order.
She glanced at the tablet in front of her, watching the text scroll across the screen.
And that’s when she saw it.
The code shifting. The flicker of something new.
Selene stilled.
No.
Not new.
Not again.
Slowly, she turned the screen toward the rest of the council.
The site was hacked. Again.
The banner was back, bold and impossible to ignore:
THEY ERASED YOUR RIGHTS. CLAIM YOUR VOICE. SHOW THEM WHO YOU ARE!
Underneath, another flood of uploads piled onto the page in real time—the stories, the photos, the years of marriage—the digital record growing thicker and heavier, refusing to be erased.
Like a wall being built in front of them. Like a fucking war cry.
The room erupted.
Porter slammed a fist against the table. “Are you kidding me?”
“How the hell?—”
“Someone fix this NOW.”
The aides scrambled, fingers flying across tablets, voices overlapping in frustration.
Tate?
He didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.
Just watched.
Watched Selene.
And Selene, calm and composed, simply turned the tablet back around, fingers tightening around the edge.
Because somewhere out there, Eden Embry was smiling.
And Selene hated how badly she wanted to see it.
?