Chapter 171

Amelia

The campaign suite was packed, the air dry and tense, and it still felt somehow hollow. Lights buzzed overhead, cold and clinical, and screens lined the far wall, pulsing through vote percentages every few minutes like a slow drumbeat.

Staff cycled in and out, whispering updates and handing off reports, each more anxious than the last. The press were barred from the suite itself, but their presence buzzed just beyond the double doors, and I could hear them murmuring and could almost feel their cameras even when they weren’t aimed at me.

I sat beside Richard at the main table, both of us maintaining a practiced posture of calm. His ankle rested on the opposite knee, one hand loose on the surface of the table, thumb idly tracing the rim of his water glass. I mirrored him as best I could, sitting upright with my hands folded neatly in my lap, though I couldn’t quiet the tapping of my foot under the table or the sick feeling crawling steadily up my chest.

The central districts had reported first, leaning in our favor, which was expected. But now the numbers were stalling, the northern precincts were delayed, and coastal regions remained silent. For the third time tonight, Nathan had passed us word that yet another voting center had lost power.

I leaned in slightly. "That’s three delays in the North."

Richard’s voice stayed level. "They’ll say it’s the storm."

"Nathan doesn’t think so."

"Neither do I."

Simon handed over another folded report. Richard read it quickly, and I watched the movement of his jaw before he spoke again. "Same district as the missing tallier."

I swallowed. "They’re going to blame us."

"They already are."

One of the screens flickered and refreshed. The room shifted around us as people began murmuring. Some leaned closer to the monitors, while others stepped back, as if physical distance might protect them from the outcome. I felt the weight of eyes brushing over me, tracking every breath and movement, even when I remained silent.

Richard turned slightly toward me. "They’ve seen what you’ve done. That’s what matters, not your mother."

I kept my gaze on the screen. "I don’t think they can separate us."

He didn’t respond. I stood, not bothering with a reason. "I need air."

I left through the side corridor that looped around to the auxiliary exit. It was quieter here, the noise from the suite muffled by thick concrete walls. An aide passed me in the opposite direction without speaking. Her eyes were red and puffy, and I kept moving, turning corners without much thought, needing to escape the feeling of being watched.

That was when I saw him.

David.

He leaned against the wall outside a side conference room, sipping from a water bottle like he owned the building. His posture was relaxed, but the look in his eyes was too calculated.

"Amelia," he said, like we were old friends. "Didn’t expect to see you out wandering. Isn’t this your big night?"

I didn’t slow down. "You shouldn’t be back here."

He followed, keeping just behind me. "Just stretching my legs. Tense night. So many little surprises. Delays. Missing personnel. It’s hard to keep track."

I turned to face him. "If you’ve interfered in any way—"

"I don’t need to interfere. Some truths always find their way to the surface, especially the ones buried in blood."

"You’re bluffing."

He smiled, a flash of teeth without warmth. "Then you’ve got nothing to worry about."

He walked away without another word, leaving the stench of cologne and something faintly rotting in the air behind him. I stood there too long, cycling through every document we hadn’t released, every file sealed under Richard’s authority, and every lead we had tried to bury for now.

Back in the suite, Richard saw my expression the moment I returned. He moved toward me without drawing attention, but his posture had shifted.

"What happened?"

"David knows something, or he’s working very hard to make me believe he does."

"What did he say exactly?"

"That the truth always comes out. That blood doesn’t wash clean."

Richard’s expression didn’t change. "Let him talk. He only wins if we give him something real."

More returns filtered through. The eastern cities had swung to our side, but barely. The mood in the room had grown tighter, more brittle. One of the aides in the back corner was whispering urgently into a headset, while another sat with her head down, hands clenched around a tablet, her knuckles white.

Simon approached with a mug and handed it to me. "Tea. You’re shaking."

"I haven’t stopped all day."

The bitterness of it landed hard on my tongue, and it felt wrong in my stomach, like I shouldn’t have swallowed anything at all.

Just before midnight, the bells began.

First one tower, then another, until the full chorus rang out. I had heard the bell chimes a thousand times before, but tonight they rang differently. Each one felt exact and deliberate, as if the whole city was holding its breath.

The main screen updated.

A gasp cut through the room. A chair scraped against tile. I turned quickly.

We were ahead.

Barely, but it was something.

Richard stood straighter and raised his voice. "We hold. Nobody leaves until the coastal buffer confirms. Amelia, come with me."

I followed him through a corridor I hadn’t used before, past the old council chambers and up a stairwell with smooth stone steps. The walls were cool to the touch, and the air had the sharp taste of metal, as though the entire building had been sweating in anticipation.

He opened a narrow door, and we stepped out onto a high balcony overlooking the central square.

The crowd below was massive, filling the space wall to wall and glowing with the light of enormous screens and scattered camera flashes. Flags waved as phones captured every flicker of movement. I spotted someone holding a painted banner with Richard’s name across it, half-blocked by shifting lights and moving heads.

Richard rested his hands on the railing. "You told me once you wanted a kingdom worth believing in."

I stayed beside him and nodded. "I still do."

He glanced at me, not smiling. "You’ve given them every reason to believe in it."

"It’s not finished. Not yet."

"If this flips, we tell the truth. Everything."

I looked at him. "Even if that truth burns everything down?"

"Then we rebuild it. But we don’t back down."

His hand brushed my back, steady and warm. I leaned into him, letting his presence ease the sharp edge that had been growing behind my ribs all night.

"David’s going to release something. I can feel it."

"Then we handle it. You and me."

A cheer rose from the crowd, echoing through the square and bouncing off the balcony walls. Someone ignited a pink flare, and smoke curled upward into the night air, drifting toward us.

I turned to face him. "If we win tonight, this only gets harder."

"I know, but we’ll be ready for that too."

He looked at me fully now, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Come here."

I stepped into him, and he kissed me without hesitation. His hand moved to my face, the other anchoring at my hip. I pressed into him, into the heat of his mouth, the steadiness of his chest, and the way his body folded around mine like it had been waiting all night. It wasn’t rushed or dramatic. It was grounding and real.

When we finally separated, he didn’t step away. He rested his forehead lightly against mine and breathed with me.

The screen below flashed again.

Another update had come in, and we were still ahead.

I turned back toward the railing, letting my palms rest flat against the metal. The bells had stopped, but the tension hadn't.