Different from the journalists who smiled while priming their knives.
But she also knew what happened when you opened the wrong door too soon.
Her pulse flickered at the memory—one reporter, one moment, and her whole world had splintered.
She turned her phone facedown and slid it into her coat pocket.
Not yet.
Not this.
She lifted her chin and forced a breath steady enough to pass as casual.
She would deal with the chaos later—when her heart wasn’t trying to climb into her throat.
“Ready?” she asked.
Luke nodded, though she caught a hint of curiosity lingering in his expression.
She straightened her shoulders and began setting up the camera.
This house had waited decades for someone to tell its story.
Her troubles could wait one more hour.
Luke watched Amayah as she set up for her latest video.
From the moment she’d stepped toward the door of the old building, her energy had shifted. She moved with ease—checking lighting, adjusting her mic, smoothing her coat before the camera began to roll.
The transformation was subtle but striking. She came alive in front of the lens in a way that made Luke pause.
He stood to the side, notebook in hand, pretending to review his questions while he really watched her.
Just minutes ago, in the car, she’d stiffened at every mention of money. Her voice had stayed calm, but her fingers had tightened around the steering wheel—tiny tells he’d learned to read.
When he’d asked if her new income changed her life, she’d offered polite answers that revealed almost nothing.
And something about that still scraped against his conscience.
Maybe she was hiding something.
Maybe Linda was right.
Maybe anyone could craft a gentle exterior and tuck the truth behind the seams.
But now, as he watched her, he wasn’t so sure.
Amayah lifted her face toward the camera, eyes bright, and spoke about courage. About gratitude. About finding beauty in overlooked places. Her voice was soft but sure, genuine in a way that made the air feel warmer.
She didn’t sound like someone chasing sponsorships or cashing in on fame.
She sounded like someone trying—really trying—to give people hope.
He shifted, uncomfortable.
Linda’s words kept echoing:Find what she’s hiding. Peel back the shine.
Hannah’s voice drifted through his mind—her bright enthusiasm, her blind trust, the way she’d followed charisma right off a cliff.
