Shadows of Velvet Hearts

The glass chamber in Geneva was built for transparency—but everyone in it was hiding something.

Zara Kimani stood at the center of a horseshoe-shaped room lined with international tribunal representatives. Cameras whirred from behind soundproof walls. The public wasn't allowed in—not yet. This was the pre-trial review, the closed-door reckoning.

The woman presiding, Commissioner Renata Weiss, adjusted her glasses. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were razor-sharp.

"Ms. Kimani," she began, "you are here not as a defendant, but as a witness to one of the most far-reaching data manipulations in global history. You are also, as of this morning, named by several governments as the primary source of leaks that upended their financial, political, and military sectors. Are you prepared to testify under oath?"

Zara's throat was dry. Adrian sat behind her in the gallery, stone-faced in his tailored navy suit. Chalo and Amira were present too, though separated, under security escort. Even Esther, wearing a grey scarf and anonymity like armor, watched from the shadows.

"I am," Zara said.

The room tensed. She could feel it: the weight of countries, corporations, and silent actors pressing down on her like a storm cloud waiting to strike.

---

Zara's testimony began with her role at Meridian Analytics. She explained how she'd been recruited, how Wanjiru had warned her, and how the drive had come into her hands. Every detail was punctuated with dates, emails, and code snippets she had printed, translated, and highlighted.

When she described Project Harambee, she noticed Commissioner Mufasa from Kenya lean in. He looked like someone who had once trusted the initiative, maybe even championed it. She saw the crack in his armor when she revealed the fund reallocations and fake shell companies.

"Ms. Kimani," said Weiss, "do you have proof that the money linked to Project Harambee was redirected by Meridian?"

"I do. And I have logs showing specific individuals within the Ministry of Housing and Urban Affairs approved those backchannels."

"Were those logs altered?"

"No," Zara said. "They were hidden, but not forged. That's the difference."

Whispers filled the chamber.

Weiss continued, "What role did Adrian Muriithi play in all this?"

Zara glanced behind her. Adrian didn't flinch.

"At first?" she said. "He was a cog. But when he realized the size of the machine, he turned."

"Turned to whom?"

"To me."

"And your alliance was… romantic?"

Zara hesitated. "Yes. But it didn't start that way. I didn't trust him. I still don't, not completely. But I trust what we've built since we exposed Oracle."

---

The next few hours were a brutal dissection of her every move. How she escaped Nairobi. How she accessed Swiss systems. How she and her team broadcast Carter's corruption in Davos. Amira and Chalo were called next, then Adrian.

Zara watched him take the stand with the composure of a man who had worn a mask for years. He detailed the architecture of Oracle with terrifying precision.

But what shocked the room wasn't the code.

It was the psychology.

"Oracle didn't just predict outcomes," Adrian explained. "It anticipated resistance. It redirected narratives. If someone tweeted about corruption, Oracle could rewrite the algorithm so they'd see discrediting articles within minutes. It was built to protect itself."

Someone from the Canadian delegation swore under their breath.

"And who designed this self-defense system?" Weiss asked.

"I did," Adrian replied.

The room froze.

"And why did you stop?"

"Because I fell in love with the woman who was trying to destroy it."

That silenced even the whispers.

---

During the recess, Zara stood outside on the terrace, overlooking the Alps. The wind was sharp but honest. It didn't pretend to be anything else.

She heard footsteps.

"Should I ask what you're thinking?" Adrian said.

"No," she said. "Just stand here."

He did.

"They hate us," she said.

"They fear us," he corrected. "There's a difference."

"They might prosecute my mother."

"Then we fight. Again."

She looked at him. "You'll stay?"

He took her hand. "Even if they burn the world down."

---

When the tribunal reconvened, the tension had curdled into something worse: uncertainty. Rumors of Obsidian's activity in South America had begun circulating. A digital riot had broken out in Caracas. Oracle wasn't dead. It had simply changed clothes.

Commissioner Weiss took the floor again.

"Ms. Kimani. Final question. Why should we believe that you—and your team—are not the next generation of Oracle?"

Zara stood still.

"I can't give you guarantees," she said. "Because that's what Oracle thrived on—pretending certainty was a virtue. But I can give you access. To the full Exodus archive. To the source code of every protocol my father left behind. If you're afraid we'll hoard power, then take it. Analyze it. Expose us. That's what transparency means."

Weiss narrowed her eyes. "So you're surrendering it?"

"I'm offering it," Zara corrected. "Because if you don't accept it, then you're just the next version of what you claim to oppose."

That struck a nerve.

---

After the session, Zara found Esther waiting in a hallway. The two women stared at each other for a long time.

"You could've denied everything," Esther said softly.

"I could've."

"You told them the truth."

Zara nodded. "Someone had to."

Esther handed her a folded paper.

"What's this?"

"A key. To my old Zurich lab. There are fragments of something I never finished—something we might need if Obsidian evolves."

Zara nodded. "Will you come with me?"

Esther smiled. "You've outgrown my shadows. But I'll be watching."

She kissed Zara's forehead and vanished into the crowd.

---

That night, Adrian made a reservation at a quiet restaurant in Geneva's Old Town. For the first time in weeks, Zara wore a dress—not tactical gear, not techwear. Just a navy blue silk that clung like memory.

Over candlelight, they didn't talk politics. They didn't mention protocols.

They talked about nonsense.

What kind of coffee they liked. The music their parents played. Adrian admitted he once wanted to be a poet.

"You still could be," Zara said.

"I already am," he said, reaching across the table. "I just haven't written the last line yet."

---

Later, in their hotel room, Zara stared at the ceiling while Adrian slept beside her. The moonlight traced his silhouette in silver.

She whispered to the dark:

"They'll come again. With new names. New code. New lies."

She turned to Adrian and held him closer.

"But this time," she whispered, "we'll be ready."

And as sleep pulled her under, Zara dreamt not of war or fire—but of a world where velvet hearts didn't have to hide in shadows anymore.

---