stillatmidnight
Some truths are erased to survive.
Justice was never the same thing as truth.
In a city built on sealed files and silent agreements, the law decides what is remembered-and what is erased.
Cases close, evidence disappears, and names are buried deep enough that no one asks why they were there in the first place. What remains is order. Or the illusion of it.
But patterns don't stay hidden forever.
A broken scale begins to surface in places it shouldn't-courtrooms after hours, crime scenes already cleared, files marked confidential. Each appearance is subtle. Intentional. A reminder that balance has been disturbed, and someone is keeping score.
Two people cross paths under carefully constructed identities.
Both are hiding in plain sight. Both are trained to observe, not trust. Their connection is accidental at first-almost insignificant-but proximity has a way of undoing even the most disciplined lies. Conversations linger too long. Questions remain unasked. Silences grow heavy with meaning.
Because some people aren't just hiding who they are.
They're hiding why.
As truths begin to surface, loyalty fractures. The line between justice and survival blurs, and love becomes dangerous-not because it is forbidden, but because it demands honesty in a world that punishes it.
Every choice carries a cost.
Every secret has an expiration date.
And some truths, once uncovered, cannot be undone-only erased.
This is not a story about heroes or villains.
It is about what happens when the law fails, and people decide for themselves what deserves to be protected.
Some stories are told in full.
Others are redacted.