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“I get your point, Mr. Sullivan. Unlikely, but not impossible.” She grimaced. “I apologize for my bias.”

That better matched both her black-or-white idealism and her professionalism.

I nodded in acceptance, letting her process my argument.

She stared at me, studying. Silence stretched on, until finally, she spoke. “You haven’t changed my mind, but … maybe you’ve changed my timeline.”

So that’s how it was going to be. She hadn’t flinched, just hesitated. But hesitation wasn’t enough.

“I’m asking you to see the whole picture,” I tried again. “Dacien’s not good. But without him? You think the factions he holds back won’t fill the vacuum?”

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “Monsters policing monsters. That’s your defense?”

“There’s that bias again. But sure—we can go with monsters, if that’s all we’ve got.” I let that hang. “Hobbesian sovereignty. Read it sometime. Or don’t—just know that you’re writing about a Leviathan, Jules.”

“Meaning?”

“You don’t kill him without unleashing the sea.”

Now she looked shaken. Not scared—uncertain. I pressed.

“The second the story breaks, it’s no longer yours. It gets twisted, chopped up, fed into twenty algorithms. And every one of them leans more toward outrage, less toward accuracy.”

Jules didn’t interrupt. I had her attention now.

“This isn’t about whether you’re right,” I said quietly. “You are. It’s about what happens next. Because stories like this don’t land quietly. They don’t drop. They detonate.”

She picked up her coffee cup but didn’t take a sip, like the action was subconscious as she considered where my argument was heading.

I didn’t give her a chance to refocus, but kept going. “So what happens when a mother sees your headline and pulls her kid from school because their teaching assistant”—I gave a small smile—“is a supe? Or it hits the news and some politician slaps on a supe curfew?”

She didn’t like that. “What the world does with my truths is not my responsibility.”

And there was her naivety. “It becomes your responsibility the moment your work stops being information and starts being ammunition.” I kept my voice calm. “You think you’re putting out truth, but someone else is already loading it into a gun.”

She looked down. Toyed with the coffee mug again.

“You think you’re chasing corruption. Maybe you are. But what you’re holding is a weapon. And you don’t get to pretend you don’t know what it can do.”

She set her coffee down, still untasted, and leaned forward. “You’re wasted as a lecturer, Mr. Sullivan, that much is clear. You could be doing so much more.”

I smiled as Kara glanced at me. “Maybe. The uni’s closed for a while. Let’s see what happens.”

“I do appreciate the thoughtfulness of your arguments,” Jules went on, “but you have to understand … some truths need to be told regardless of the fallout.”

“Well, indeed,” I said, letting my eyes harden. “You can’t win a Pulitzer without risk, right?”

She bristled. “It’s not just about my career, Mr. Sullivan.”

“I’m glad to hear that. A posthumous Pulitzer won’t carry the same satisfaction.”

Her mouth thinned. “You’re threatening me again.”

“Still just a lecturer, Jules. But, if a currently-unemployed lecturer thinks you’ll be dead before the week’s out, what do you think someone like Dacien Halden would do?” I cocked my head. “How close to publishing did you say you were? I’ll definitely read it, if it comes out before you die.”

She swallowed hard, then glanced at Kara, who still hadn’t said anything, but whose presence emphasized the Halden name.

“It’s just money, Jules,” I said softly, “and it’s Dacien’s—it’s not even yours. I can give you another story instead.”

“Yeah? Like what?” she asked bitterly, as if she didn’t really believe I had something to replace what I was asking her to throw away.

“You know how many people died in Bay Uni on Friday night?”

“A few hundred, I believe,” she said, apathetic. “But that story’s been done.”

“You’re right, it has. But you know what’s interesting?”

Her focus sharpened. “Go on.”

“Half of them weren’t even supposed to be there. But no one’s talking about that, not even SPAR.” I tapped the edge of the table with my finger. “Would you like an interview?”

She held my gaze, considering. “Drop the Dacien story and pick up that instead?”

“Hundreds of dead supes at Bay Uni campus on Halloween night, and none of them were supposed to be there. Why, Jules?” I shrugged. “Want an exclusive?”

Her breath quickened. “Dead supes? Not students?”

“Supes,” I confirmed, with a flick of my eyebrows. “Investigating it comes with risk. But risk isn’t dead, is it? Are you ambitious, or suicidal?”

She wavered. Glanced at Kara, at the recorder, and back at me. “The uni’s closed.”

“At least until Spring Semester, but that’s to your advantage. Lots of faculty, sitting around with nothing to do, available for interviews at short notice.” I examined my nails. “I know them all, of course.”

“You have proof?”

“No,” I said bluntly. “It was carried off in SPAR body bags. I imagine someone would need connections.”

Kara leaned forward. “I was there too. Xan’s right. About everything.” She put just enough emphasis on that last word.

Jules looked between us both, then gave a sigh. “Fine, I’ll kill the Dacien story.”

“No half-measures,” I said. “Scrub your notes. Burn your backups. Tell your editor it fell apart.”

“I said fine.” Her tone was clipped, but the words were steady. “I know what kind of story not to chase.”

“You didn’t, five minutes ago.”

She ignored that. Her eyes flicked to Kara. “If I take this new angle—Bay Uni, the bodies, all of it—I’ll need something to work with. More than vague allusions and eyebrow twitching.”

“I gave you the story,” I said. “You want a red carpet too?”

She held my stare. “You’re offering a lead on just your say-so.”

Kara leaned in, calm and cold. “The story’s real. All those deaths, SPAR turning up late, and no mention anywhere of what happened or why?”

Jules glanced between us. “So SPAR covered it up? That’s political—and potentially dangerous.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that the kind of story you like?”

A wry smile flickered on her lips. “And if I choose to walk?”

“Then you walk.” I shrugged. “That’s your call.”

Jules exhaled hard. “What’s in it for you?”

“Maybe I just want the truth out there.” Now she’d agreed to drop the Dacien story, I didn’t really care either way.

“And the sources?”

“Give me your number,” I said. “I’ll send you Faculty contacts. You’ll need to make your own friends inside SPAR. The bodies were taken there. If there’s evidence, it’s locked behind clearance levels I don’t have.”

“But you’re sure they exist?”

Kara’s voice was quiet. “Don’t just take our word for it. Other students will corroborate.”

Jules nodded once. “All right. I’ll find a way in.”

I leaned forward and picked up the recorder, clicked it off, and shoved it in my coat pocket.

She didn’t try to stop me, just stood up and collected her bag, giving me her business card. “This better be worth it.”

I smiled without humor. “Better to chase ghosts than become one.”

Her eyes narrowed. Then she nodded and walked off.