The silver fork feels wrong against my fingers, like I'm playing dress-up in someone else's life. Emma sits across from me, illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight that makes her look almost ethereal. The restaurant spins slowly atop Genosha's tallest skyscraper, offering a panoramic view of Hammer Bay that would take my breath away if I could focus on anything besides the weight of the day pressing down on my shoulders.
"You look absolutely exhausted," Emma observes, taking a delicate sip of her wine. The deep burgundy liquid catches the light, reminding me of blood. Jubilee's blood. I blink the image away.
"Yeah," I confirm adjusting the collar of this ridiculous deep-V dress shirt Emma insisted I wear. It plunges so low I'm pretty sure my belly button is making an appearance. In this world, men's fashion seems designed to show as much skin as possible while still technically being clothes.
Emma's eyes narrow. "But at least you got a nice tan."
"Yeah," I repeat.
Her gaze stays on me, that penetrating stare that makes me feel like she's reading more than just my surface thoughts. I know she probably is.
"Oh yeah," I add, trying to sound casual, "I met a few people."
Emma's flawlessly sculpted eyebrow arches upward. "Who?"
"A girl named Magik," I say, watching her face carefully. "And another girl named Firestar."
"Oof..." Emma's expression shifts to something between amusement and guilt, her ice-blue eyes darting away from mine for just a second.
"She says you killed her horse," I continue, not letting her off the hook.
Emma's smile vanishes, replaced by a grimace as she sets down her wine glass with deliberate care. "Oh my god..." she sighs, pressing her fingertips against her temple. "Yes... Butter Rum..."
"Wait, really?" I lean forward, genuinely shocked. "You actually killed her horse?"
"It feels like a lifetime ago," Emma says, her voice softening as she stares into her wine. "I was... I was a lot less mature back then." Her eyes meet mine, and for once, there's no mask, no calculated seduction, just raw honesty. "My goals were very different. I wanted power. More than anything."
"So you killed her pet?"
Emma runs her manicured finger along the rim of her wine glass. "Well, I gave her the horse first, let her form an attachment, and then killed it after she got close to it." She says it so matter-of-factly, like she's describing picking up dry cleaning.
"Jesus, Emma." I lean back in my chair, feeling my stomach twist.
"I know, I know..." She sighs, a flicker of genuine regret crossing her perfect features. "I was trying to break her. To remake her into something I could control." Her eyes meet mine across the table. "Honestly, the thought of hurting an animal nowadays just seems so... sad."
I shake my head, trying to process this new information about the woman sitting across from me. "She hates your guts."
Emma's lips curve into a small, resigned smile. "I'm not surprised."
Her eyes narrow slightly as she studies my face, and her expression shifts to something like genuine surprise. "But you still trust me," she says softly, not a question but a statement.
I sigh, too exhausted by grief and revelations to put up any mental barriers. She's clearly reading my mind, as always.
"Would you prefer I heard the story and didn't trust you afterward?" I ask, meeting her gaze.
Emma's smile turns genuine. "Most people would run screaming from this table after hearing what I just told you."
"I don't know, Emma," I say, running my finger along the edge of the fancy tablecloth. "I don't think you're that bad now. But maybe you are... I honestly don't know."
I look up and meet her eyes, those icy blues that always seem to see right through me.
"I think..." I pause, rephrasing my thoughts. "I hope if you were still a villain, Xavier wouldn't have let you take me under your wing."
Surprise flashes across Emma's face, before she quickly masks it with her usual composed expression.
"That's... surprisingly optimistic of you, Jack," she says, her voice softer than usual. "Especially considering everything you've been through."
I shrug, pushing around the fancy food on my plate that I've barely touched. "I mean, my judgment of 'evil' is probably skewed anyway. I just don't think you could be worse than my mom or dad, so it probably doesn't matter."