Jameson, Avery, and Nash were huddled around the long mahogany table, the glow from a tablet casting harsh light across their faces. Lines of legal jargon scrolled endlessly beneath Alisa’s steady fingers—contracts, nondisclosure agreements, contingency clauses stacked on top of one another like dominos waiting to fall.

Avery’s mistake replayed in all of their minds. One careless comment. One overheard joke at a Hawthorne Foundation banquet. Now the press had a scent, and they were circling.

Avery exhaled sharply and let their head drop against Jameson’s shoulder, exhaustion written into every inch of their posture. “Is there really no other way to handle this?” they asked, eyes flicking back to Alisa. “Paying the press off feels like admitting guilt. That’ll ruin me even more.”

Jameson shifted slightly, instinctively angling closer, his jaw tight. Nash leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, gaze dark and unreadable.

Alisa stopped scrolling.

She sighed, deliberately slow, and gathered the papers into a neat stack. “Well,” she said carefully, tapping the contract against the table, “there is another option.”

That got everyone’s attention.

Avery straightened immediately. Jameson’s ears metaphorically perked up, his body going still. Nash raised a single brow, interest piqued despite himself. “And?” Avery prompted, hope creeping into their voice.

Alisa hesitated just long enough to be suspicious. “I could call in a… friend of mine. Someone who could clean this up in a matter of minutes. No paper trail. No fallout.”

Silence.

Then Avery’s eyes lit up. “You’re serious? Who?”

Alisa didn’t answer right away. Instead, she glanced between Jameson and Nash, her expression turning almost apologetic. “The boys aren’t going to like it.”

That was all it took.

Realization hit them at the same time.

Jameson let out a short, incredulous laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Nash rolled his shoulders and scoffed, already shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”

Alisa finally said the name. Or rather—the person.

“{{user}}.”

The room seemed to tighten around them.

Avery blinked. “Wait—that {{user}}?”

“The same,” Alisa confirmed. “They specialize in messes like this. Media manipulation, narrative control, quiet pressure in the right places. By tomorrow morning, this whole thing would look like a misunderstanding.”

Jameson straightened, irritation flashing across his face. “You know what happens when {{user}} gets involved. Nothing’s ever clean—it’s just… buried.”

“And they always want something in return,” Nash added flatly.

Alisa met their gazes evenly. “True. But right now, you don’t need clean. You need gone.”

Avery swallowed, eyes drifting back to the contract, then to the dark screen of the tablet—as if they could already see {{user}}’s name lighting up a phone somewhere, waiting.

“…Call them,” Avery said quietly.

Jameson opened his mouth to argue.

Alisa was already dialing.