"I'm sorry," Vanessa said, and her voice broke on the second word.
"I know." Alexandra rose, brushed the dirt off her knees, and straightened her apron. "I hope to see you on Monday. And Miss Sloan?" She smiled, and it reached her eyes. "The lemonade is self-serve from now on."
Vanessa left the tent on unsteady legs, past the silent line, past the scaffolding, and she didn't look back because if she had, the tears she was barely holding would have won.
"She's going to be a problem," Luna muttered. "Vaelira 2.0."
"She's going to be fine," Alexandra said, and went to make more lemonade.
...
The story hit the networks at four, and it hit wrong.
Someone in the line had filmed what they could see from outside the tent: killing intent rolling through the flap, Luna dragging a woman across the gravel by her ankle, and the question that followed. The footage cut before anyone went back inside.
