In a divided city, a first-year resident, an investigative journalist, and their neighbor join forces to unravel a web of corruption and secrets surrounding the death of their friend, leading them to confront an oppressive government, uncover dark p...
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CHRISTINA PATIENTLY WAITED for the coffee to be done, the whirring sound of the machine almost tuning out David's, her coworker, voice.
"...I've been working on it nonstop, and I keep reaching dead ends..." She could see his mouth moving, but she knew for sure that if she remained still and did not interact, he wouldn't notice that she was drifting, not processing any of his words.
The kitchen was empty, save for the two of them. It was still 5 p.m., which meant she had a few hours to go until she could go back home. She'd spent her entire Tuesday writing meaningless stories, attending boring meetings and socializing to give her mind a break, but ended up getting caught in the never-ending stories pitching her colleagues adored. She wanted to write about anything other than a fire breaking out in a forest, an accident by the river, a robbery in the middle of the night.
She sighed heavily, took the coffee pot, and poured the dark liquid into her large mug.
She signed up to be an investigative journalist; to write one long article about an investigation she conducted for months - not churned stories, multiple ones crammed in a day, to satisfy consumer demands. She was sticking with this job, even if it was at the largest newspaper in Fairford, only to gain experience and a salary. She was forced to work on her personal time until she reached a breakthrough. And she could see it with this case. Slowly, it was starting to unravel. There was surely more to it than met the eye. She was close. So close.
She hissed once the coffee pooled out of the edges, the hot liquid burning her fingers.
"Shit," she hissed. She'd been so lost in trance that she hadn't noticed it went over the rim.
"Uh-oh, someone's distracted," David tutted.
"Shut up, David," she fired back, pushing the handle of the sink up and putting her hand under the cold water, soothing the burn.
"What's on your mind?"
She lathered her hands with soap, wiping them with the nearest towel. "Nothing."
He tapped his chin, tilting his head. "Did you hear what I said then?"
"No," she answered distractedly, fishing out some tissues and wiping the mess she had made.
He rolled his eyes. "There is a big charity dinner this Thursday hosted by Olivia Winters."
Christina frowned. "For her mayoral campaign?"
"Most likely. Though I think she's going to pitch to investors her ideas of making the city-state great again, the usual gist."
Pursing her lips, she took large gulps of her mug to reduce its volume. "Interesting..." she commented lamely, the bittersweet taste of coffee prickling her tongue.
"Viviane Dallas is rumored to be there."
That piqued her interest. She snapped her head up to him. "Is she?"
