The thing about betrayal is that it rarely announces itself with confession.
It lingers in paperwork.
In timing.
In silence.
Adrian had been awake for thirty-six hours when the internal report finally reached his desk.
Not the public inquiry.
Not the surface review.
The private one.
The one he commissioned quietly.
Because proximity was not coincidence.
And politics did not run on coincidence.
The file was thin.
Too thin.
Which meant it had been cleaned.
He flipped through it slowly.
Access logs.
Media consultant contracts.
Encrypted communications routed through third-party civic analytics firms.
Nothing definitive.
Everything suggestive.
One name appeared three times.
Not in bold.
Not highlighted.
Just repeated.
Marcell Virelli.
Senior Strategic Operations Liaison.
Coalition-aligned.
Media consultant liaison.
Direct reporting line under Adrian's advisory umbrella.
Adrian stared at the name for a long time.
Then he leaned back in his chair.
