"What are you doing?" Miles peered over my shoulder.
"Initiating the distribution cascade. Evelyn designed her system to release the information in waves—news outlets first, then legal advocacy groups, then broader public channels. Each release is time-stamped and encrypted, so the others continue even if one channel is compromised."
My fingers hovered over the keyboard. One command stood between the world as it was and what it would become. I thought of all the nameless faces in Asphodel's database—people who never knew an algorithm had judged them. Their friends and families would never know why they died.
And Marissa. As my finger hovered over the key, I heard her voice in my head, "Truth is how we fight monsters, Alex. Always has been."
I pressed SEND.
For a moment, nothing happened, but then confirmation notifications began to appear—receipt acknowledgments from secured servers worldwide.
"It's out there." My voice was barely audible over the storm. "They can't stop it now."
I looked up at Michael, his eyes reflecting the lantern's flame. He smiled. "You did it."
I shook my head. "We did it."
Barely ten minutes had passed when I pointed at the screen. "Look. #AsphodelFiles and #ReevesReckoning are already trending."
Miles pulled up a chair at the table. "That was fast. People were waiting for something like this."
I repeated what I knew from Marissa. "People have suspected surveillance overreach for years. They just never had concrete proof of direct action—of actual kills sanctioned by an algorithm."
Michael stood by the window, dividing his attention between the digital storm and the natural one still raging outside. "Any major news outlets picking it up yet?"
I refreshed my browser. "TheWashington Postjust published a paragraph announcing a breaking story on the way. They're being cautious—framing it as alleged documents while their fact-checkers verify."
Marcus occupied himself in the kitchenette. Making coffee seemed to calm him. "How long before official denials start?"
"They're already coming in." I scrolled through a government agency's terse statement. "Baseless accusations and potentially doctored documents are the phrases used."
A notification chimed on my laptop—an incoming message on a secure channel Evelyn had established. I clicked to expand it.
"Here's a message from someone in a whistleblower forum." I scanned the text. "'I've waited ten years for someone to spill this. I worked at the R-H Phoenix facility when they first pitched Asphodel to the DoD. I told my supervisor the ethical implications were terrifying. Two weeks later, they revoked my security clearance. Thank you for the vindication.'"
Miles whistled low. "They're listening, and they're coming out of the woodwork."
Michael moved from the window to stand behind me, one hand resting on the back of my chair. "Any journalist contacts yet?"
As if summoned by his question, new notifications appeared—secure message requests from reporters at major outlets.The Guardian.Le Monde.Al Jazeera.
"They're here, but Evelyn's notes say not to respond yet. She suggests waiting twenty-four hours for initial verification to spread and then engaging only through the secure channels she established."
Lightning flashed again, its brilliance momentarily overwhelming the screens' glow. The thunder that followed shook the cabin.
Marcus brought over mugs of coffee. "Public reaction is one thing, but who's going to actually do anything about it?"
Miles pointed at my screen. "Look at this. Senate Intelligence Committee chair announced an emergency closed session for tomorrow."
Michael rubbed his chin. "That was fast."
I sipped my coffee, letting the bitter warmth spread through me. "They were probably briefed the moment the files hit the net. Nobody wants to be caught flat-footed when something like this breaks."
Miles's sudden curse sliced through the room's nervous energy. "Fuck. Oh fuck."
He sat frozen, staring at his laptop, the color draining from his face. The confident therapist who'd been documenting the world's reaction was gone, replaced by someone who looked like they'd seen their own ghost.
"Miles? What is it?" Marcus moved toward his brother, coffee forgotten.
