THE NAMES HE NEVER SPOKE — PART 4 — The Truth Buried Alive — A political thriller about power, secrets, and the cost of truth.
Short story series — Part 4 of 4
A violent attack forces Lira into exile while the regime tightens its grip — but a final message on the dark web suggests the dead man’s secrets may yet surface. Story: S A Spencer
Author of Popular Fictions: The Pink Mutiny, The Black Waters, Dream In Shackles
📣 Caught up in
the blackout? Make sure you’ve read Part 1
and Part
2 , Part 3 first.
The Hunt Begins
The figure
lunged.
Lira swung the
cast‑iron pan with every ounce of strength she had. It connected with a
sickening thud, sending the intruder staggering sideways into the wall. He
recovered quickly — too quickly — and grabbed her wrist.
She twisted,
kicked, fought like a cornered animal.
He slammed her
against the kitchen bench.
Her vision
blurred.
Her ears rang.
But adrenaline
kept her moving.
She drove her
knee into his ribs. He grunted, loosening his grip just enough for her to
wrench free and sprint toward the balcony.
Behind her, he
cursed and followed.
Lira threw open
the sliding door and stepped into the cold night air. The harbour glittered
below, deceptively peaceful. She climbed onto the railing, heart pounding.
“Don’t,” the
intruder growled, stepping closer.
Lira met his
eyes — dark, cold, professional.
A man who had
done this before.
A man who would
do it again.
She didn’t
hesitate.
She jumped.
The Escape
The fall was
only one storey, but it knocked the breath from her lungs. She landed hard in a
garden bed, rolled, and forced herself to her feet. Pain shot through her
ankle, but she pushed forward, limping into the alley behind the building.
Shouts echoed
above.
Footsteps.
She ducked
behind a dumpster, heart hammering, and waited.
The intruder
leaned over the balcony railing, scanning the alley.
For a moment,
she thought he’d seen her.
Then he turned
and disappeared back inside.
Lira exhaled
shakily.
She didn’t go
back for her laptop. She didn’t go back for her belongings. She didn’t even go
back for her shoes, which she’d lost in the fall.
She just ran.
The
Journalist
By dawn, she
was sitting in the back room of a dingy café near the docks, wrapped in a
borrowed jacket, shaking uncontrollably. Across from her sat Theo Marlin —
investigative journalist, occasional troublemaker, and one of the few people
she trusted.
He stared at
her, horrified.
“Jesus, Lira.
They tried to kill you.”
She nodded
weakly. “They’re covering everything up. Vale’s disappearance, the files, the
footage… all of it.”
Theo rubbed his
face. “And you’re sure it goes all the way to Kestrel?”
Lira hesitated.
Then she pulled
the USB drive from her pocket.
“I’m sure.”
Theo reached
for it — but she pulled it back.
“It’s
encrypted,” she said. “And dangerous. If you open it, you’ll be next.”
Theo leaned
forward. “Then let’s publish it. Blow the whole thing open.”
Lira shook her
head.
“You don’t
understand. They’ve already erased the evidence from the detention centre.
They’ve deleted the footage. They’ve silenced staff. They’ve scrubbed the
digital trail. If we publish this now, they’ll call it fabricated. They’ll
discredit you. They’ll discredit me. And then they’ll kill us.”
Theo swallowed.
“So what do we do?”
Lira stared at
the USB drive.
“We survive.”
The Border
Two nights
later, Lira stood on the deck of a rusted cargo ship preparing to leave Varosia
under a false name. Theo had arranged everything — forged documents, a smuggler
who owed him a favour, a quiet departure under the cover of darkness.
The harbour
lights shimmered behind her, the city skyline rising like a jagged crown.
She felt
hollow.
Exhausted.
Broken.
But alive.
The smuggler
approached. “We leave in five minutes. Once we’re out of Varosian waters,
you’ll be safe.”
Safe.
The word felt
foreign.
Lira clutched
the USB drive in her pocket. She’d made a copy — hidden somewhere no one would
think to look. The original stayed with her.
Insurance.
Just like
Darian Vale.
She turned one
last time toward the city.
Toward the
palace.
Toward the man
who had ordered her death.
Chancellor
Arion Kestrel.
A man who had
risen to power promising greatness.
A man who had
built his empire on secrets, coercion, and the suffering of the vulnerable.
A man who now
slept soundly in his gilded residence, believing he had won.
Lira whispered
into the wind:
“You won’t get
away with it forever.”
The Palace
In his private
study, Kestrel poured himself a glass of whisky. His hands trembled slightly,
but he ignored it. The storm had passed. The crisis was contained. Vale was
gone. Dr Sen had “fled the country in a state of emotional distress,” according
to the official report.
The public
would believe it.
They always
did.
He raised the
glass to his lips.
But the whisky
tasted bitter.
He set it down.
Something
gnawed at him — a faint, persistent unease.
Vale had been
meticulous. Paranoid. Strategic.
What if he had
left something behind?
What if Dr Sen
had escaped with more than just fear?
Kestrel stared
at his reflection in the darkened window.
For the first
time since the election, he felt old.
Vulnerable.
Mortal.
The Dark Web
Three weeks
later, an anonymous message appeared on a hidden forum used by whistleblowers
and investigative journalists.
A black screen.
White text.
“Darian
Vale’s final insurance policy.”
Below it, a
countdown.
No explanation.
No context.
No demands.
Just time
ticking down.
Theo saw it
first.
He stared at
the screen, heart racing, and whispered:
“Lira… what
have you done?”
The Exile
In a small
rented room in a foreign city, Lira Sen sat on the edge of a narrow bed,
watching the same countdown on her laptop.
She didn’t know
who had posted it.
She didn’t know
what would happen when it reached zero.
She didn’t know
if the truth would finally break through the walls of power that had smothered
it.
But she knew
one thing:
Darian Vale had
been right.
The rot started
at the top.
And rot always
spreads.
She closed the
laptop gently.
Outside, the
city hummed with life — distant, indifferent, free.
Lira breathed
in.
She wasn’t
safe.
Not really.
Not yet.
But she was
alive.
And the truth —
somewhere out there — was still waiting to be heard.
🔔
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⚖️ Disclaimer
The Names He Never Spoke is a work of fiction. All characters, organisations, events, and settings are entirely imaginary or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real-world governments, institutions, or political movements is purely coincidental.
This story contains mature themes including psychological manipulation, political corruption, and trauma. It is intended for adult readers and may not be suitable for all audiences.
The views and actions depicted in the narrative do not reflect those of the author or publisher. This series is designed for entertainment and literary exploration only.
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