Reina did not speak publicly.She didn't need to.Instead, she let others speak for her.
That morning, three different publications ran nearly identical columns:
"Fabricated Ledgers and a Disgraced Girl: A Dangerous Game of Lies."
Each article dismissed the leak as a hoax. Each traced its origin to a bitter former student with a history of disciplinary action.
They never used my name.But they didn't need to.
By mid-morning, the Avelar estate gates were closed to all but family. Two known informants vanished. One banker fell from a bridge.
"She's cleaning house," Serena said."No. She's drawing lines."
That afternoon, a black carriage was seen leaving the eastern faculty wing—its curtains drawn tight, its emblem smudged but still faintly bearing the crest of the old Inquisition. A name passed in whispers: Professor Dareth, who had once taught political rituals, was placed on indefinite sabbatical for "health concerns."
At court, no one mentioned the article. But their silences were loud. Eyes darted. Conversations shortened. Allies stepped back.
A sealed envelope arrived at the dormitory mailroom with no sender. Inside: a single page from a confiscated syllabus, marked with a sigil no student should have access to. Proof that Reina had supporters inside the academic council.
"This is the part where they wait to see who bleeds first," Serena muttered."Then we don't give them blood. We give them proof."
We slipped the second page of the ledger to the Crown Archivist.Anonymously.
Just enough to connect Reina to two defense contracts and a missing treasury report.Just enough to make the silence tremble.