The city felt different the next morning.
It was the same streets, the same noise, the same impatient horns. But to Daniel, everything sounded distant, like he was listening from underwater.
He sat at the small table in his apartment, a mug of untouched coffee in front of him, his laptop open.
On the screen, a folder waited.
SUBJECT: SENATOR RICHARD WILLIAMS – CONTRACT FILES
He clicked it.
Pages and pages of documents opened. Old contracts. Payment records. Transfers to companies that didn't officially exist. Numbers lining up too neatly to be innocent.
Mara's voice came through his earpiece, calm as always.
"Everything you need is there," she said. "The first phase. Nothing too heavy. Just enough to crack the 'perfect' image."
Daniel scrolled slowly.
"This is from years ago," he said. "Construction, roads, public funds. Not exactly saint-like, but not mass murder either."
"No one said we're looking for devils," Mara replied. "We're looking for dirt. Small stains on white clothes still show."
Daniel leaned back in his chair and stared at the screen.
"What about the client?" he asked. "He knows exactly what we're about to do?"
"Of course," Mara said. "Senator Kane paid for this. He wants Williams to lose support. People don't need the full truth. They just need doubt."
Doubt.
It was a powerful weapon.
Daniel opened one specific file. A contract with numbers circled in red, showing an inflated cost and a trail that led briefly to a company tied to Senator Williams' brother.
"Is the brother involved on purpose?" Daniel asked.
"Doesn't matter," Mara said. "Once this hits the internet, nobody will care if it was a mistake, a favor, or a misunderstanding. They will just see 'corruption.' That's how this game works."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then he sighed.
"So we send this to some hungry news pages," he said.
"Yes," she replied. "Use a secure channel. No trace. Send only a portion of the files first. Keep the rest in our hands. Remember, we're not finishing him yet. Just shaking his pedestal."
Her voice softened a little.
"Don't take it personally, Daniel. This is the job. You knew what it was when you signed up."
He stared at the frozen laptop screen, and a different face flashed in his mind.
Not the senator's.
Amara's.
Her wide eyes as the car stopped inches away from her.
The way she grabbed the door when her ankle hurt.
The way she tried to be brave and sarcastic even while scared.
He shut his eyes briefly, then opened them again.
He couldn't afford feelings.
Feelings got people killed.
"Understood," he said finally. "I'll handle it."
He opened a secure browser and created a burner email—one that would disappear within hours.
His fingers moved quickly across the keys.
To: a popular political blog and a "truth-exposing" online page.
Subject line: short, simple.
Subject: Check this. Hidden contract – Senator Williams.
He attached a carefully chosen set of files. Enough proof to make noise. Not enough to show their full hand.
In the message box, he typed only three words:
"The people deserve truth."
His mouse hovered over the send button for a moment.
He thought about Amara sitting somewhere in class, maybe taking notes, maybe checking her phone…
He clicked send.
It was done.
"First batch sent," he told Mara.
"Good," she replied. "Now you wait. And when she calls, you answer. You are just 'Daniel' to her. The normal guy who almost hit her with his car. Nothing more."
He closed the laptop with a soft click.
For about an hour, he moved around his apartment, pretending to do normal things. Wash a plate. Change his shirt. Check his phone. But his mind stayed glued to what he had just done.
At exactly 9:42 a.m., his phone buzzed.
Not his work phone.
His personal one.
He picked it up.
Unknown number.
He already knew who it was.
"Hello?" he said.
"Daniel?" a familiar voice asked.
Amara.
He let a bit of surprise colour his tone.
"Amara? Hi. Did you save my number after all?" he asked.
"Don't flatter yourself," she muttered. "The clinic sent me a text with your payment record, and your number was on it."
He smiled slightly.
"Right. Are you okay? How's the ankle?"
"It's annoying," she said, and he could hear the irritation in her voice. "I have to limp around like a wounded goat. But the doctor said it's not serious."
"I'm glad," he said. "For the record, I really am sorry."
Silence on the line for a second.
Then she spoke again, her voice lower.
"Did you see the news today?" she asked.
He sat back down at the table.
"No," he lied gently. "Why? What happened?"
"My father," she said. "Some blog posted something about him. Old contract, missing funds, suspicious company. They're making it look like he stole money."
"Is it serious?" Daniel asked, keeping his tone neutral but concerned.
"It's all over my social media already," she said quietly. "Some people are defending him. Some are calling him trash. Some just want drama. My uncle is shouting downstairs. My mom looks like she hasn't slept."
Her voice shook at the end.
"I'm sorry you have to go through that," Daniel said.
He meant it.
Even if he caused it.
"It's politics," she said. "I hate politics."
"Have you talked to your father?" he asked.
"He says it's just an attack," she replied. "He says they're twisting something that happened a long time ago. But…"
"But what?" he asked.
"But the internet doesn't care about explanations," she said. "They just care about headlines."
She went quiet for a moment, then cleared her throat.
"Anyway," she said, trying to change the subject. "I just called to say sorry for shouting at you yesterday. You did help me. That counts for something."
"It's okay," he said. "You had every right. I did almost end your life."
A small sound came through the line, like she tried not to laugh.
"I didn't say you were forgiven," she said. "Just that I'm not angry anymore."
"I'll take that," he replied.
She hesitated, then added, "The doctor said I shouldn't move around too much for a few days, so I'll be stuck at home, bored and irritated. If you want… you can text sometimes. Just to distract me from the circus here."
There it was.
The opening he needed.
"Sure," he said. "I can send you horrible jokes until you block my number."
"Don't try it," she said. "I'm already suffering."
They both fell quiet again.
"Take care of your ankle, Amara," he said. "Try not to let the internet tell you who your father is. They only know what they are shown."
"And what if what they are shown is true?" she asked.
He looked at his closed laptop.
"Then it's still up to you," he said slowly, "to decide what to do with it."
She didn't reply right away.
"Talk to you later," she finally said.
The line ended.
Daniel dropped the phone onto the table and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
He had just lied to her with his voice while telling the truth with his files.
He told himself this was only the beginning. There were many more leaks ahead, more secrets to uncover, more damage to be done.
This was just one step in a long assignment.
But as he sat alone in his apartment, he had a quiet, dangerous thought:
For the first time in his life, he wasn't sure whose side he wanted to stand on at the end.