“We have your seat marked on the stage.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She handed me a bottle of water and a small microphone pack.

I clipped the pack to my waistband and ran the wire under my jacket.

Priya stood beside me, holding the printed copy of my speech.

“Do you want to make any changes?” Priya asked quietly.

She knew what was in the draft.

It was a standard, inspiring speech about the future of renewable energy.

It was safe.

It spoke of collaboration and technological progress.

But the events of the last hour had changed everything.

“Give me the pen, Priya,” I said.

She handed me a black felt-tip pen.

I laid the speech pages flat on a nearby equipment trunk.

I began to cross out entire paragraphs on the first page.

I crossed out the polite platitudes.

I crossed out the standard corporate success stories.

Instead, I wrote three words in the margin.

“The cost of truth.”

“Are you sure about this?” Priya asked, watching my hand move.

“They are going to record this, Sarah.”

“It will be streamed live on the university website.”