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Simultaneous.
Coordinated.
Precision strikes.
Not random.
Never random.
One of them—
points directly at us.
“They’re trying to cut the head off the story,” I say.
I zoom in.
Highlight the paths.
The timing.
The kill windows.
“And the mouth.”
Silence grips the room.
Because now—
this isn’t exposure anymore.
This is retaliation.
Lark doesn’t look away from the screens.
Not even for a second.
“They’re going to try to kill me,” she says calmly.
Aaron steps closer to her.
Solid.
Unmoving.
“No,” he replies.
A beat.
His voice lowers.
Dead certain.
“They’re going to try.”
That’s the difference.
Not outcome.
