Michael didn't move for a long time.
The laptop screen continued to glow in front of him, casting a faint light across his face. That name. That connection. A government official. It wasn't a rumor anymore. It wasn't a suspicion.
It was proof.
Michael leaned back slowly, running a hand through his hair as the weight of it all settled in.
"…So this is what I walked into."
The hotel room suddenly felt smaller, like the walls had closed in without warning. Because now, it wasn't just dangerous.
It was targeted.
His phone buzzed.
Lucas.
Michael answered immediately.
"Tell me you're okay."
Michael let out a faint breath. "I'm okay."
There was a pause on the other end.
Then Michael added, "I found something."
Lucas went quiet. "…What?"
Michael glanced back at the screen. "There's someone behind this. Not just anyone."
"Who?"
Michael hesitated, then said it anyway. "…A government official."
Silence followed—heavy and suffocating.
Then Lucas spoke, his tone shifting. "That's not just dangerous anymore."
Michael leaned his head back slightly. "I know."
"No," Lucas said, his voice tightening, "you don't. This isn't something you fight head-on."
Michael's expression hardened. "I'm not walking away."
"Michael—"
"I can't," he cut in softly.
Another pause.
Lucas exhaled sharply. "…Come back."
The words lingered between them.
"Let someone else handle it."
Michael closed his eyes briefly. "You know I won't."
Silence.
Then, quieter—more vulnerable—Lucas said, "I don't want to lose you."
That one hit deeper than the rest.
Michael swallowed. "You won't."
But even as he said it, he knew that wasn't a promise he could guarantee anymore.
"I love you," Lucas said quietly.
Michael's voice softened in return. "I love you too."
But this time… love sounded like fear.
Miles away, Lucas stood in a dim office, his expression unreadable.
"Double the security," he said coldly. "No distance. I want eyes on him at all times."
There was a brief pause.
"And if anyone gets close—" his voice dropped, "handle it."
The line ended.
Lucas didn't move.
Because in his mind, this was no longer about caution.
It was about control.
Kofi met Michael again later that day.
"You look like you haven't rested," Kofi said as soon as he saw him.
"I haven't," Michael replied.
They didn't waste time.
"There's more," Kofi said quietly.
Michael looked at him. "What kind of more?"
Kofi glanced around before speaking, lowering his voice. "This official… he's done this before."
Michael's expression darkened. "…Explain."
"Cases like this," Kofi continued, "they don't reach court. People disappear. Or they're silenced before anything happens."
A pause followed.
"And no one questions it."
Michael clenched his jaw.
"So this is routine."
Kofi didn't answer.
Because that silence was answer enough.
As Michael left, a car slowed beside him.
The window rolled down.
A man inside looked directly at him, his gaze cold and steady.
"You've gone too far."
Michael didn't respond.
"You're being advised—leave," the man continued.
Silence.
Then, more quietly, "If you don't…"
The car drove off before finishing the sentence.
It didn't need to.
The threat was already understood.
As Michael left, a car slowed beside him.
The window rolled down.
A man inside looked directly at him, his gaze cold and steady.
"You've gone too far."
Michael didn't respond.
"You're being advised—leave," the man continued.
Silence.
Then, more quietly, "If you don't…"
The car drove off before finishing the sentence.
It didn't need to.
The threat was already understood.
Back at the hotel, Michael sat on the floor, his back resting against the side of the bed.
There were no files this time.
No phone in his hand.
Just silence.
For the first time, he let it all hit him.
The risk.
The pressure.
The fear.
"…What if I can't win this…"
The words slipped out quietly, almost like a confession.
Because this wasn't a classroom anymore.
This was real.
This was life.
And death.
That night, his phone rang again.
Unknown number.
Michael hesitated for a moment before answering.
"Hello?"
A shaky voice responded. "…Is this Michael?"
"Yes. Who is this?"
"My name is Ama," the voice said quickly. "I work near the detention center. I heard you're trying to defend that man."
Michael sat up slightly. "Yes. What is it?"
There was a pause.
Then she said, "You don't have time."
Michael's chest tightened. "…What do you mean?"
Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.
"They're planning something."
Silence filled the space between them.
"What kind of something?" Michael asked, his tone sharper now.
Another pause.
Then the words came—
"They want to move him… quietly."
Michael stood up instantly. "Move him where?"
Ama hesitated.
Then finally—
"…Execution."
The word hit like a gunshot.
Michael froze.
"When?" he asked.
Her answer came quickly.
"…Soon."
The line went dead.
Michael lowered the phone slowly, his mind racing.
Because now everything had changed.
This wasn't about building a case anymore.
This wasn't about proving a point.
This wasn't about justice in a courtroom.
This was about time.
And time—
was running out.
He wasn't just fighting to win anymore.
He was fighting against time.