Celestina stood in the dusty confines of the palace archives, surrounded by rows of old books and yellowing documents. The faint smell of mildew hung in the air, and the dim light made it hard to focus. But she couldn’t stop. She had to find the truth about her mother—and whether the impersonation plot was just a cruel fabrication or something far worse.

“Anything yet?” Anton’s voice startled her, and she turned to see him leaning against the doorframe.

“Not yet,” she replied, brushing her hair out of her face. “There has to be something here. Old letters, personal correspondences—anything to prove that whoever’s behind this impersonation plan is lying.”

Anton stepped forward, his brow furrowed. “It might be a trap. You know that, right? They’re trying to shake you.”

Celestina slammed a book shut. “I know that. But if there’s even the smallest chance they’re using something real against me, I need to find it.”

Anton hesitated before nodding. “I’ll have more guards stationed near the archives. Just in case.”

“Thank you,” Celestina murmured, already diving back into another pile of documents.

As the hours dragged on, the quiet of the archives was broken by a faint humming. Celestina froze, her heart skipping a beat. The melody was hauntingly familiar—a lullaby her mother used to sing to her as a child.

Slowly, she stood and followed the sound, her pulse quickening with every step. “Hello?” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls.

The humming stopped abruptly. She turned a corner, expecting to find someone, but the corridor was empty.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice shaking slightly.

Silence answered her. For a long moment, she stood still, her hand instinctively moving to her stomach for comfort.

“Get a grip,” she whispered to herself before returning to the documents. But the eerie familiarity of the lullaby stayed with her, gnawing at her mind.

Meanwhile, the city outside the palace walls was in turmoil. Crowds gathered in the streets, holding signs demanding action. Protests over the worsening economic crisis were becoming more frequent and more volatile.

In a hastily called meeting with her advisors, Celestina listened as voices clashed, each person proposing a different solution.

“We need to announce immediate aid packages,” one advisor said.

“With what money?” another snapped. “We’re barely holding the government together as it is!”

Celestina held up her hand, silencing the room. “Enough,” she said firmly. “I understand the people’s frustration. They’re suffering, and we need to address it—not argue about it.”

“But Madam President,” an advisor began cautiously, “if we act too hastily, we risk draining what little resources we have left.”

Celestina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Find a balance. We’ll prioritize food and medical aid. I don’t care what it takes—our people need to see that we’re doing something.”

The advisors murmured their agreement, and the meeting adjourned. But as Celestina left the room, the weight of the nation’s struggles pressed down on her harder than ever.

Later that afternoon, the palace received an anonymous letter, delivered by an unknown courier. The receptionist brought it directly to Celestina, who opened it cautiously.

The letter was short and cryptic:

“I have information about your father that could change everything. Meet me at the Garden Tower at sundown. Come alone.”

Anton frowned as he read over her shoulder. “You can’t go. It’s too dangerous.”

“I can’t ignore it either,” Celestina countered. “If there’s even a chance this could help us…”

“It’s a setup,” Anton insisted.

“I’ll take that risk,” she said firmly. “But I won’t go alone. You’ll shadow me, along with a small team. Stay out of sight, but be ready to intervene if anything happens.”

Reluctantly, Anton nodded. “Just don’t do anything reckless.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Celestina stood at the Garden Tower, her eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of her mysterious informant. The air was cool, and every rustling leaf made her flinch.

Finally, a hooded figure emerged from the darkness, their face obscured. “You came,” they said, their voice low.

“Who are you?” Celestina demanded. “And what do you know about my father?”

The figure handed her a folded piece of paper. “This is all you need to know. But be careful, Madam President. The truth is more dangerous than you think.”

Before she could ask more, the figure disappeared into the shadows. Celestina unfolded the paper, her eyes widening as she read the contents. It was a list of names—her father’s allies, many of whom were still active in her government.

Back at the palace, Celestina’s mind raced with the implications of the list. She was interrupted by her receptionist, who knocked hesitantly on her office door.

“Madam President, there’s someone here to see you,” the receptionist said.

“I told you I’m not seeing anyone else tonight!” Celestina snapped, her patience frayed from the day’s events.

The receptionist stepped aside, revealing a figure standing in the doorway. Celestina’s breath caught in her throat as her eyes locked onto the familiar face.

“Mother?” she whispered, her voice trembling.