Truth has a sound when it breaks. It’s quiet at first, like a crack in glass then it spreads until every reflection you trusted shatters. That’s how it feels when the DNA results come back. Not from the woman claiming to be Elia.
From a set of remains unearthed six years ago. I found the record buried in a sealed database private forensic archive, encrypted behind Z-Core’s legal firewall. It took all night to breach it.
When the file finally opened, I expected another lie, another placeholder report. Instead, there were photographs. A shallow grave. Coastal soil. A skeleton wrapped in what looked like linen medical sheets, the kind used in old private clinics.
And a name on the tag, Elia. The autopsy was performed under the authority of a private entity, Liana’s family. My chest went t
