The moment the bullet missed Emma's heart, it hit something else something far more dangerous.
It struck the part of her that once craved peace.
Now, all she craved was war.
She stood still in the hallway of their private wing, her heels resting beside her bare feet, and the silver hem of her evening dress clinging loosely to her figure. The moonlight streamed through the floor-length glass window, illuminating her silhouette in an eerie, almost ethereal glow. Her eyes weren't teary. They were sharp, calculating, blazing like two twin wildfires that refused to die down.
Alex watched her from the doorway, one hand still gripping the doorknob as if afraid that letting go would mean watching her unravel again. But she hadn't unraveled. No, she was threading herself back together with invisible wire, tighter and stronger.
"They tried to kill you," he said quietly, voice strained from the weight of almost losing her.
Emma didn't respond.
