The motel room felt like it was shrinking.
They hadn't spoken in hours. Not really. Just half-sentences, nods, long silences that did all the talking. Lila sat cross-legged on the bed, her hair tied up, staring at a stain on the ceiling like it held the answers. Alexander sat on the floor by the window, knees to his chest, fingers twitching like they were still gripping a weapon.
His whole body buzzed. Not with fear. Not anymore.
With something worse. Expectation.
Every time a car rolled by outside, he flinched. Every footstep in the hallway made his stomach twist. He knew it was only a matter of time. Kingsleys didn't lose. Not cleanly. Not quietly.
And he had embarrassed them.
Not just by speaking.
But by surviving.
Lila finally spoke. Her voice was dry. "How long do you think we have?"
He didn't answer. Because the truth was, they didn't have time. Time was a luxury. And they were broke. Borrowed. Burnt.
She stood up, crossed the room, sat beside him on the floor. Their shoulders touched.
"I dreamed of fire again," she whispered.
He turned, looked at her. "Yours or mine?"
"Both. It was your family at the edge of the woods. And they just… watched. While everything burned. They were smiling. Like it was a show."
Alexander swallowed. He could still smell the smoke from her house, even though it had been weeks. Still saw the flames when he closed his eyes. But worse than that was the smile.
His father's smile. Clean. Pitying.
Disappointed.
"They won't stop," he said. "Not until we're erased. Or they're buried."
She nodded once. Then stood. "So we bury them."
The private investigator came through again.
His name was Barrett. No first name. No past he shared. Just a deep voice, heavier with every word, and a folder that could sink ships.
"Donovan Kingsley's assets span twelve countries," he said, slapping down photos, offshore accounts, wire transfers. "But here's the crack. See this? One of the shells is in his sister's name. She's not as careful. I traced it. This one move could trigger the rest."
Alexander leaned over the table. The motel lamp flickered above them, barely holding on.
"Will it be enough?"
Barrett nodded slowly. "It's the fuse. We light it, they all go up. But once it starts, there's no turning back. No going underground. You light this, you finish it."
Lila stepped forward. Her arms were crossed, jaw locked. "Then we light it. Burn the whole damn thing."
Alexander looked at her then back at the folder.
He didn't hesitate.
"Let's burn."
They set up in an abandoned bookstore downtown.
No cameras. No signs. Just dust and broken dreams.
Barrett set up the system. Old servers. Off-the-grid connection. Burner laptops.
Alexander and Lila did the rest.
They compiled the data. Turned the documents into stories. Linked the accounts. Labeled the names. Mapped the crimes. Every bribe. Every threat. Every dollar soaked in someone else's silence.
It was slow work.
But it was real.
And each file felt like taking back a piece of himself. Of them. Of everyone the Kingsleys ever stepped on.
They posted anonymously. Daily. Like chapters.
The Kingsley Files: Volume 2
Donovan's Dirty Dozen
The Price of Power: How a Family Bought a Government
The internet caught fire.
News channels picked it up. Whistleblowers started stepping out of shadows. Former assistants. Politicians. Even a security guard who had been paid to look the other way during "certain meetings."
The Kingsley name was cracking.
Then Donovan struck back.
It came in waves.
First, smear campaigns. Accusations that Alexander was manic. Lila a manipulator. That the files were doctored. AI-generated. Fictional.
Then came the threats.
Anonymous emails.
"We know where you sleep."
"Pretty girl. Shame if she vanished."
Lila didn't flinch.
She changed her hair again. Dyed it jet black. Pierced her eyebrow. Said, "Let them look. I won't hide."
Alexander watched her become something harder. Not broken. Not scared.
Just done.
Done being prey.
Then came the night that shattered everything.
They came back from a supply run. Cheap takeout and two more burner phones.
The bookstore door was open.
Alexander froze. Lila dropped the food.
Barrett stepped out from the shadows inside, one hand on a holster.
"You were followed," he said.
No anger. Just fact.
"What? No, we made sure"
"You were followed," Barrett repeated. "We move. Now."
They grabbed what they could. The laptops. The hard drives. The photos.
Barrett led them to a back alley. A rusted sedan waited.
"Where are we going?" Alexander asked.
Barrett didn't answer.
Because someone fired.
A shot cracked the night.
Lila screamed. Barrett yanked Alexander down. Glass shattered.
Then more shots. Five. Maybe six. One hit metal. Another hit Barrett.
He grunted. Clutched his side. Didn't stop moving.
"Go!" he barked.
Alexander pulled Lila. They ran. Down the alley. Into the street. Sirens howled far away, but not for them.
They ran until their lungs gave out.
Collapsed behind a dumpster.
Lila was shaking. Blood on her cheek. Not hers.
Alexander pulled her close. Tried to breathe. Tried to think.
Barrett was gone. The bookstore was compromised. And they were alone again.
But not powerless.
Because Barrett left them the drive. The one he called the fuse.
And they still had fire.
They leaked it all.
Every name. Every number. Every crime.
To journalists. Hackers. Activists.
It exploded.
Front page news. Government hearings. Protests. Demands for arrest.
Donovan went quiet. Then dark. Then disappeared.
Some said he left the country. Others said he was hiding in plain sight.
Alexander didn't care.
Because for the first time, the Kingsley name meant nothing.
And that was everything.
They moved again. Not out of fear.
Out of peace.
A small apartment. Two rooms. Cheap rent. No cameras. No names on the mailbox.
Just them.
One night, Lila stood on the balcony, watching the rain.
"Do you think it's really over?"
Alexander came up behind her. Wrapped his arms around her waist
"No. But I think we won the first war.
She leaned back into him. "What about the next?"
He kissed her shoulder. "We fight it together."
A month later, they got a package.
No return address.
Inside: a flash drive and a note.
"For the next fire."
Alexander stared at it for a long time.
Then plugged it in.
New names. New files. Another empire. Another lie.
Lila looked at him.
"You ready?"
He smiled, small and tired and true.
"Always."
Because truth didn't sleep.
And fire never dies.
Not when you're made of it.