The morning began like any other.
Sunlight spilled over Silvergate University's polished hallways, and students moved about as though nothing unusual lingered in the air.
But Amina felt it.
A weight in her chest. A prickling on her skin. A silence between thoughts.
She sat at the far end of the campus library, pouring over decrypted documents Elijah had left with her—records of financial transfers, offshore accounts, hidden properties.
Everything tied to the Mwangi empire.
Everything that could expose the truth.
And every single page she read made her pulse beat faster.
But Elijah wasn't answering his messages that morning.
He had said he'd be gone a few hours, meeting someone from his late mother's circle. He'd promised to be careful.
But something about the silence gnawed at her.
---
By noon, the smell hit first.
At first, it was faint—burnt plastic. Then stronger—smoke, rubber, something chemical.
The distant sound of running footsteps reached the library.
Then came the screams.
Amina stood up fast, heart pounding.
Students sprinted past the hallway. One girl yelled, "The hostel! It's on fire!"
Amina froze.
Her hostel.
She dropped everything and ran.
---
By the time she reached the outer wing of the girls' hostels, the sky above the structure was thick with smoke. Flames licked the edges of the roof. Sirens wailed as fire engines pulled up.
Amina's eyes scanned the crowd—girls wrapped in blankets, students coughing, security trying to form a perimeter.
Her block—the top floor—was gone.
A total loss.
She rushed to the responders. "I live there! My room's on the east end!"
"You can't go in," one of the firemen said firmly. "It's not safe."
"I had… I had my documents there, my laptop—"
"Miss, we'll do our best to recover what we can. But that floor is lost."
Lost.
Gone.
---
A woman from student affairs approached her, holding a half-burnt backpack. It was hers.
Inside was nothing.
Except a charred piece of notebook paper, sealed in a clear plastic bag.
The paper read:
> "We warned you. Walk away or the next fire will be your family."
---
Elijah arrived thirty minutes later.
He found her sitting on the curb, a silver thermal blanket draped over her shoulders, eyes fixed on the burning structure like her soul was still inside it.
He crouched in front of her and gently took her hand.
"Amina," he said softly. "What happened?"
"They burned it," she whispered.
Elijah opened the zip of her backpack and saw the message.
Rage filled his chest. But he kept his voice steady.
"They're sending a message."
"They think I'll back down," she said bitterly. "They think they can scare me off."
"They don't know you," Elijah said.
Then he stood.
"They're about to."
---
That same evening, in the glass-paneled office of Mwangi Towers, Grace Mwangi sipped wine and watched the news report from her phone screen.
"Electrical fault, they say," Kalonzo said beside her.
Grace chuckled. "They always say that."
Her assistant spoke again. "She survived."
"I wasn't trying to kill her. I was trying to make her feel watched. Fragile. Replaceable."
Kalonzo nodded. "And Elijah?"
"Oh, he's fuming by now. And when people burn with emotion… they make mistakes."
---
Two days later, Silvergate University called an emergency town hall.
Faculty. Students. The press.
All gathered to calm the tension and rumors after the fire.
Dean Obura stood at the podium, trying to maintain the university's credibility.
But halfway through his speech, the auditorium lights flickered.
The microphone sparked. The projector screen behind him turned black.
Then a voice played over the sound system.
Calm. Cold. Dangerous.
Elijah's voice.
> "You thought the fire would end this.
That fear would silence the truth.
But the truth doesn't burn.
We see you.
We're not hiding anymore."
Gasps rippled across the crowd. Phones lifted. Cameras clicked.
By the time the university IT team shut it down, the voice clip had already gone viral.
#GhostHeir was trending within an hour.
Elijah's message had been heard.
---
That night, on the rooftop of the old science block, Amina sat beside him under a pale moon.
They hadn't spoken for a while. The silence between them wasn't empty—it was full of weight. Shared grief. New courage.
"Why didn't you stop me from getting involved?" she finally asked.
"I tried," Elijah said, his voice low. "But I was already falling by then."
Amina turned her head slightly, searching his expression. "Falling?"
He looked at her then, eyes meeting hers.
"For you," he said quietly.
Her heart skipped.
"I didn't plan it. You weren't part of any calculation. But you saw me… when I was trying to be invisible."
She blinked back emotion. "You don't have to hide anymore."
"Neither do you."
He reached for her hand.
And in the stillness of that night, something unspoken passed between them.
Not just attraction. Not just connection.
But resolve.
Together, they would fight.
---
The next morning, a news headline shattered what peace was left:
> "Robert Mbati—former lawyer to Mwangi family—found unconscious in a vehicle crash. Condition critical."
Elijah stared at the screen, phone in hand.
Amina gripped the armrest. "They're moving faster."
He nodded. "They're tying up loose ends."
"We have to go to him."
"We will."
But Elijah was already planning something else.
This wasn't just a war of secrets anymore.
It was becoming a war of survival.
And the empire wasn't going to let go of its lies without a fight.
✅ End of Chapter Six: Fire and Glass