The click of the master suite's electronic lock finally engaging was the loudest sound in the tomb-like silence of the Sterling estate. As the door swung open, the moonlight from the floor-to-ceiling bedroom windows spilled into the dark hallway, casting a long, silver path.
Styler stood in the threshold, her silhouette sharp and unbreakable. She didn't look like a victim; she looked like a survivor who had just watched her captor's world turn to ash.
Elena didn't wait for an invitation. She crossed the distance in a blurred, desperate sprint, her boots thudding against the marble until she reached Styler. She threw her arms around Styler's neck, pulling her into a crushing, trembling embrace.
"I thought... I thought I'd lost you," Elena sobbed into the crook of Styler's neck, her hands clutching the fabric of Styler's torn blazer as if she were trying to anchor her to the earth. "When the phone went dead... Styler, I've never been so afraid."
