The ride from his parents' estate to Navaeh's apartment was long, but Mordred didn't mind. He needed the silence. The calm before the inevitable storm.
When Navaeh opened the door, she already knew. It was in his eyes. She stepped aside without a word and let him in.
The room was dimly lit, her laptop screen casting a soft glow across the couch where stacks of notes and articles lay scattered—some about him, others about the industry. She had been digging, researching. Preparing.
"I figured they'd react this way," she said as he sat beside her. "I didn't expect anything less."
Mordred ran a hand through his hair, his shoulders tense. "They're coming after you. My father didn't say it directly, but I've seen that look before. That 'I'll destroy everything you care about' look."
Navaeh didn't flinch. She met his gaze steadily. "Then let them come."
He stared at her for a second, searching for fear. There was none.
"You're not surprised," he said quietly.
"I told you from the beginning," she replied, leaning back, "this world doesn't hand out peace. Especially not to people like us—who choose truth over appearances. Fame is just another battlefield."
A small, tired laugh escaped him. "And here I thought I was dragging you into a war."
"No," she said, a faint smirk forming. "You just didn't know I was already armed."
Mordred smiled—truly smiled—for the first time that day. He reached into his coat and handed her a flash drive.
"What's this?" she asked.
"Everything. My father's dirty deals, the offshore accounts, illegal trades, false charity partnerships—evidence. Years of it. I've been collecting it slowly. I didn't know what I'd do with it… until now."
Navaeh's brows furrowed as she took it. "You're trusting me with this?"
"I trust you more than I've ever trusted anyone." He paused. "This isn't just about us anymore. If they try anything, we strike first. Expose them. Ruin them. Before they ruin anyone else."
Navaeh nodded, her expression shifting to that of the fearless journalist she was born to be. "Then let's be ready. Not scared. Not hidden. Ready."
Mordred reached out and took her hand. "Whatever happens next… we face it together?"
She squeezed his hand gently. "Together."
---
Later That Night – The Calm Before
The apartment was quiet again. Navaeh had just finished locking away the flash drive in a hidden compartment in her journalistic archives. Mordred stood by the window, looking out at the city lights.
"They think they still own me," he said quietly. "But I've never felt more mine than I do right now."
She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. "Let them try to play gods. We're already rewriting the story."
He turned and kissed her forehead, grounding himself in her warmth.
Outside, the world slept unaware of the storm about to rise.
But Mordred and Navaeh?
They were wide awake.
And ready for the fire.