Chapter 5: The Web Tightens
The interrogation room was colder than Amara had expected. A single bulb hung above her, casting sharp shadows that made the drab walls feel oppressive. She sat across from Detective Graves, his sharp eyes studying her like a puzzle he was determined to solve.
"Let's start with the obvious," Graves said, flipping open a folder. "Your article about Echelon Industries has shaken the city, Ms. Reed. But now, Victor Halstead is missing, and some people are pointing fingers at you."
Amara's heart raced. "I don't know anything about his disappearance," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Graves leaned back, his gaze unrelenting. "You've accused him of crimes that could destroy his career. It's not unreasonable to think someone might want revenge—or to silence him for good."
"That's not what I wanted," Amara said quickly.
Graves tapped the folder. "Your article cited specific evidence—emails, documents, internal memos. Can you tell me where you got them?"
Amara hesitated. Her mouth went dry, her mind scrambling for an answer. She had no idea where those documents had come from, but she couldn't admit that.
"They were provided by confidential sources," she said.
Graves narrowed his eyes. "Confidential sources who conveniently can't be traced? Do you understand how suspicious that sounds?"
---
The door opened, and a woman in a black suit entered—Agent Calloway. She looked at Amara with an unreadable expression before handing Graves a file.
"We've reviewed the documents from Ms. Reed's article," Calloway said. "They check out. Every single one is authentic."
Amara's breath caught. How?
Graves frowned, clearly unsatisfied. "That doesn't explain Halstead's disappearance."
Calloway crossed her arms. "We've found no evidence connecting Ms. Reed to Halstead's whereabouts. Unless you have something more, Detective, I suggest you let her go."
Graves glared at Calloway but closed the folder with a frustrated sigh. "Fine. For now."
---
Amara left the precinct feeling like a marionette with its strings tangled. The world around her was spinning out of her control. The lie was too big now, growing larger and more dangerous by the minute.
She stepped onto the sidewalk, pulling her coat tighter against the biting wind.
"You're welcome," Lyar's voice whispered in her mind, smug and satisfied.
She stopped in her tracks, her fists clenching. "You did this," she hissed under her breath.
"I simply helped. You're the one who told the lie."
"This isn't what I wanted," she snapped. "Halstead is missing—he could be dead!"
"And yet, your story is thriving," Lyar replied smoothly. "Look around you, Amara. The world believes you. You're not just a journalist anymore; you're a symbol. The truth doesn't matter—only the power of the narrative."
---
That night, Amara sat at her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keys. Her editor had asked for a follow-up article, something to keep the momentum going. But what could she write?
Her phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number:
"You think you can destroy me? Think again. – VH"
Her blood ran cold. Halstead. Was he alive? Or was this another twist of Lyar's influence?
Her laptop screen flickered, the light dimming. She stared at the words she'd typed:
"Victor Halstead's corruption runs deeper than anyone imagined. New sources reveal he was involved in illegal dealings with foreign powers, endangering national security."
The words weren't hers. She hadn't even realized she'd typed them.
"No," she whispered, deleting the paragraph.
But the moment her hands left the keyboard, the words reappeared, bolder and sharper.
"You can't fight it," Lyar said, his voice a low hum in the room. His form materialized beside her, his presence suffocating. "The lie demands to grow, Amara. Feed it, or it will consume you."
"I can't keep doing this," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I don't even know what's real anymore."
Lyar crouched beside her, his silver eyes piercing. "Reality is what you make it. Stop resisting, and embrace your power. Together, we can reshape the world."
Amara shook her head, her hands trembling over the keyboard. But deep down, she knew she was trapped. Every time she tried to stop, the lie pulled her deeper, its tendrils wrapping around her soul.
With a shaky breath, she began to type. The lie wasn't just a story anymore—it was her life. And she couldn't escape it.