Father’s Warning Emily’s POVI didn’t plan to face my father tonight.Not after the box.Not after the jacket.But I found myself standing outside his isolated safehouse—if you could even call this steel bunker in the middle of nowhere a house. It felt more like a prison, and maybe that was fitting. A man like him never lived free. Maybe he didn’t deserve to.I swallowed hard before knocking. My pulse hammered, echoing in my fingertips like it wanted out of my body. I didn’t know what I expected—anger, distance, disappointment. The usual.What I didn’t expect was the door jerking open immediately.“Emily,” he said, like he’d been waiting behind the door the whole time. “Come in. Quickly.”He didn’t hug me. He never had. But something in his voice…something low and strained—like fear—forced my legs to move. He secured three locks behind me, typed in a code, then another. It felt like entering a war zone. Maybe I was.His face looked carved from stone—older, harder, shadows like bruise

The Forced DepartureEmily’s POVI don’t remember how long I stood there after Leon walked out. Minutes, hours—time slipped through my fingers like water. My brain kept looping the same words:“We’re leaving the city. Tonight.”It didn’t feel real. It didn't feel possible. Didn’t feel fair. By the time I forced myself downstairs, the house didn’t feel like my home anymore. It felt like a war bunker on countdown.Shadowline agents moved like shadows—fast, silent, coordinated. There were more of them than usual, and they carried equipment I had never seen before. Thick black cases. Signal dampeners. Weapons locked in matte crates.It felt like the house was preparing to withstand a bomb. I grabbed the railing as I watched agents sweep the entry hall. Someone whispered, “We only have hours left.”Another replied, “Leon wants a complete blackout before midnight.”My stomach twisted. A blackout? A siege? On the same night he wanted me to disappear with him?I moved toward the kitchen. Leon

Emily Questions EverythingThe silence between us is heavier than any argument.Leon doesn’t speak on the drive home. The city lights smear across the windshield like bleeding stars, and every red light feels like an accusation. My shoulder still aches where the bullet grazed me earlier, but the pain inside my chest is worse. It keeps asking the same question over and over.How far will he go?When we step into the house, the doors lock automatically behind us. I hear the soft click of Shadowline security sealing the perimeter. Safe. Fortified. A cage dressed as a home.Leon loosens his jacket and tosses it aside. Blood—someone else’s—darkens the cuff. He doesn’t notice me watching. Or maybe he does and simply doesn’t care.“Sit,” he says, gesturing toward the couch.I don’t move.My heart pounds, loud in my ears. “Are you going to kill Brandon?”The question hangs between us, fragile and explosive.Leon stops.Slowly, he turns to face me.His expression is calm. Too calm. The kind of

Emily Saves LeonEmily’s POVThe shot comes from nowhere.No warning. No echo first. Just the violent crack of sound ripping through the air—and instinct takes over before my mind can catch up.I shove Leon.Hard.My shoulder explodes in pain as the bullet grazes flesh instead of his chest. The impact spins me sideways, the world tilting, noise collapsing into a sharp ringing as I hit the ground. For a second, I can’t breathe. For a second, I think I’m dead.Then Leon’s name tears out of my throat.He’s already moving.The calm mask he wears in public—the one that never breaks—shatters the moment he sees blood on me. I don’t even see him decide. One second he’s on the ground beside me, his hand gripping my arm, his voice low and urgent.“Emily. Stay down.”The next second, he’s gone.The air changes. I feel it before I see it. The temperature drops, pressure crushing my lungs as Leon rises like something unchained. Shadowline agents shout into comms, weapons lifting, perimeter alarms

Leon’s Breaking PointEmily’s POVLeon disappears without announcing it.Not dramatically. Not with slammed doors or shouted orders. He simply fades out of my reach, retreating into the steel-and-glass heart of Shadowline like a ghost who refuses to be seen.The first night, I tell myself it’s temporary.Leon works best in silence. In isolation. He’s always been like this when pressure mounts—strategic, distant, controlled. I wait for the sound of his footsteps outside the bedroom. I keep my light on far too late, pretending to read while my eyes drift to the door every few seconds.He doesn’t come.By morning, the bed beside me is still cold.The second day, the rumors begin.“He hasn’t slept.”“He hasn’t left the command floor.”“He rejected medical clearance.”I overhear agents whispering in corridors, voices low, glances darting toward the surveillance cameras. Shadowline still moves with terrifying efficiency—orders are executed, threats neutralized, digital fires contained—but s