Chapter 3: The Price of Deception
Amara hadn't slept. The weight of the lie pressed on her chest like an iron bar. She paced her apartment, her mind racing as news anchors dissected her article with fervor. Across the city, protests erupted outside Echelon's headquarters. Whistleblowers emerged, their testimonies eerily aligning with her fabricated claims.
She should have felt vindicated, powerful even. Instead, unease gnawed at her.
The doorbell rang, breaking the silence. Amara froze. She wasn't expecting anyone.
Grabbing a kitchen knife, she approached the door cautiously and peeked through the peephole. A woman stood there, dressed in a sleek black suit. Her expression was calm but sharp, like a blade wrapped in silk.
"Amara Reed?" the woman called, her voice firm but polite. "I'm Agent Calloway, with the Bureau of Corporate Affairs. May I have a word?"
Amara's stomach dropped. Slowly, she opened the door, knife hidden behind her back. "What's this about?"
Calloway held up a badge. "Your article on Echelon Industries has raised significant concerns. We're launching an official investigation, and we'd like to discuss your sources."
---
An hour later, Amara sat across from Calloway in her small living room. The agent's gaze was unyielding, her notebook open on her lap.
"You've made some serious accusations," Calloway began. "Your claims about Victor Halstead orchestrating disappearances—can you confirm the identity of your sources?"
Amara hesitated. Her throat felt dry, her pulse hammering in her ears. The words formed on her tongue before she even realized she was speaking.
"My sources are confidential, but I assure you, they're credible," she said smoothly.
It was another lie, but it felt effortless, as though the truth no longer held sway over her.
Calloway studied her, then nodded. "We'll need to corroborate your claims. Can you provide any documentation or evidence?"
Amara opened her mouth, scrambling for a response, when a soft chuckle echoed in her mind.
Let me help you, Lyar whispered.
Her hands trembled, but she nodded. "I have files," she said, the words spilling out before she could stop them. "Emails, internal memos. I can send them to you."
Where was this coming from? She had no such files. Yet, as Calloway left, satisfied with her answers, Amara turned to her laptop and found her inbox flooded with emails—attachments, screenshots, and documents implicating Echelon in a web of crimes.
Her hands shook as she clicked through them. She didn't know where they'd come from, but they were real.
Or at least, they appeared to be.
---
Far away, in a shadowy realm unseen by mortals, Lyar stood before a shifting mirror of smoke and glass. It displayed Amara's every move, her every word. His smile widened as he watched her unravel.
Beside him, a figure emerged from the darkness—a slender man with hollow eyes and a voice like dry leaves.
"You've returned to your games, I see," the figure said.
Lyar didn't look away from the mirror. "Mortals are so much more entertaining now. Their world is built on lies—social media, politics, even their memories. They've made me stronger than ever."
"And this one?" The hollow-eyed man gestured to Amara's image. "What's her role in your scheme?"
"She's my conduit," Lyar said, his tone gleeful. "Through her, I'll remind the gods why they feared me."
The other figure frowned. "You tread a dangerous path, Lyar. Even lies have limits."
Lyar laughed, the sound cold and sharp. "Not anymore."
---
Back in her apartment, Amara stared at the files, her heart pounding. She didn't trust them, didn't trust herself. But as the world demanded more from her, she realized there was no turning back.
The lie had consumed her life, and she couldn't escape it now.
Her phone buzzed, a new email from her editor:
"Great work, Amara. They want you on the evening news. Get ready to defend your story."
She closed her eyes, dread pooling in her stomach. Somewhere in the shadows, she felt Lyar's presence, silent but watching.
"Every lie has a cost," he'd said.
Amara was beginning to wonder if she could pay it.