Door knocked.
Emma was weirded out. It's unusual for a knock this time.
Emma's hand was already on the knife when the knock came.
No one knocked on their hideout.
She moved in silence, blade low, breath slow. One glance at the others—still asleep, still breathing—and she headed for the door.
She cracked it open just enough to see the figure outside—then swung the door wide, knife raised.
Selene.
Standing there calmly, one hand in her coat pocket, like she'd been expected.
Emma froze mid-strike. Her eyes narrowed, grip firm.
"…How did you find this place."
Selene did not flinch, did not pretend, did not even act surprised at the knife pointed at her face.
She just answered.
"I let one of my people follow you after the meeting. A spy."
No hesitation.
No pretending it was an accident.
Just truth.
Emma could have stabbed her right there.
The honesty made her stop.
Emma slowly lowered the knife, though she didn't sheath it.
"So you admit it."
"Yes," Selene said simply. "If you were incompetent, the spy would have found a grave. But you noticed nothing. Which means you don't slip. That matters to me."
Emma didn't respond to the compliment.
Her voice stayed cold, flat:
"What do you want."
Selene raised an eyebrow. "It's rude to ask questions at the doorway. You let people in first."
Emma's eyes narrowed—she didn't like being corrected—but she stepped aside anyway.
"…Come in."
Selene entered, slow steps, the way a hunter enters a new territory.
Valeria, Diana, Kane, Mostang—they were all asleep across the room, bandaged, resting.
The air smelled like medicine and metal.
Selene walked behind Emma as she led her to the center room.
And for a moment—just a second—Selene's eyes lowered.
Not at Emma's gait.
Not at her back.
But at Emma's lower back.
Selene was staring out of desire.
Learning the map of Emma's body.
Emma felt it.
She didn't look back—but her voice came low, sharp:
"Eyes up."
Selene smiled—caught, but unbothered.
"Noted."
They sat across from each other.
Selene folded her coat neatly.
Emma didn't.
Selene leaned forward.
Voice low.
Direct.
"I have information. Something you will want. And something you will hate."
Emma stared back, unblinking.
"Then speak."
Selene took a slow breath.
"Vencor has begun preparing to move. He's not waiting anymore. He's going to attack—your hideout, your team, your entire operation. Soon."
Emma didn't blink.
"When."
"Three days."
Emma was silent.
Thinking.
Planning.
Selene watched her, then added:
"And I'm not here to threaten you. I came because I don't want you dead."
Emma finally spoke.
"What do you want."
Selene's gaze softened—barely.
"To stand with you. Not above you. Not in front of you. With you."
The room was quiet.
Outside, the city breathed like something waiting to be burned.
Emma didn't look away.
"…Then sit. We plan."
Selene nodded.
No smile.
No smugness.
Agreement among wolves.
Selene sat back in the chair—knees crossed, posture elegant, calm.
Emma wasn't speaking anymore, just thinking. Planning. Calculating.
Silence.
Selene's eyes drifted—not subtle at all.
Down Emma's jaw… throat… then lower.
Right to her chest.
Selene didn't even try to hide it.
Her lips curled into a slow, hungry smile—like someone admiring a piece of art that did not belong to them… but that they wanted anyway.
Valeria noticed. She woke up.
Her hand twitched toward the knife on the table—but she didn't get the chance.
Because Emma had already moved.
SHING—
The knife swung.
Fast. Clean.
The blade sliced the air so close to Selene's cheek it parted a few strands of her hair.
It did not cut her.
It wasn't meant to.
Emma's hand stopped exactly one millimeter from Selene's skin.
Selene didn't flinch.
But her smile faded.
Emma's voice was flat—no emotion, just ice:
"Don't look at me like that."
Selene slowly raised her eyes to meet Emma's again.
Her tone was confident, but there was respect now:
"…Noted."
Emma didn't put the knife down.
She held it there a second longer.
Enough to make the room feel sharp.
Then she lowered it.
No apology.
No explanation.
Just authority.
Selene exhaled once—soft, like she was steadying herself.
"…That reaction," she murmured, "is exactly why you were chosen."
Emma didn't reply.
She just turned away, checked Valeria with a brief nod to show control, and sat again.
The conversation continued.
As it continues.
Emma stood, silent as always, and walked to the small kitchen counter.
The room was quiet—only the soft hum of the fridge and Valeria's steady breathing from the other side of the room.
Selene remained seated, fingers interlaced, eyes following Emma with an almost lazy interest.
Emma opened a cupboard.
Pulled down two glasses.
The motion was simple—precise—habitual.
Selene's gaze lowered.
She wasn't looking at Emma's face.
Not her hands.
Her eyes followed the shape of Emma's back—
the curve of her waist—
the way the shirt held her frame—
strong, athletic, feminine, defined in a way that wasn't delicate, but forged.
Selene's breath caught softly.
Her eyes sharpened—hungry, almost reverent.
Emma poured water.
She didn't look back, but she felt it.
She always feels when someone stares.
She placed both glasses on the table.
Selene's eyes rose before Emma turned.
Emma sat.
The air changed.
Selene leaned forward, tone now professional—but her eyes were still carrying something else:
"Vencor has four main supply lines," Selene began. "Drugs, arms, recruitment, and medical laundering. You want him cut down? You break those first."
Emma nodded slightly, resting her chin on her hand.
"Medical laundering," Emma said. "It keeps his men alive. We start there."
Selene smiled—not flirt, but approval.
"You always go for the artery first."
Emma didn't respond.
Selene continued:
"There's a surgeon. One of his main stabilizers for wounded enforcers. Kill or recruit her. If we take her, Vencor's casualties become permanent."
Emma closed her eyes for a moment.
"…Recruiting is cleaner."
Selene's expression changed.
Amusement. Respect.
"You hate unnecessary blood."
Emma opened her eyes.
"No. I just know blood follows you either way. No point wasting it."
Selene watched her.
The quiet.
The weight.
The war inside her.
Valeria, silent, sitting near the wall, listened carefully.
She glared at Selene every few seconds—but trusted Emma's presence enough not to speak.
Selene leaned back, voice lower now:
"You know… they all see you as a myth. A symbol. The ghost girl who killed for Vencor and then broke her chains."
Emma didn't blink.
"I'm not a symbol," she said quietly.
Selene's eyes softened.
"No. You're a storm."
Emma stood again.
Slow. Calm.
"We move tonight," she said.
Valeria immediately got up as well.
Selene rose, smoothing her coat.
But before she left—she allowed herself one more small look.
At Emma's silhouette in the doorway.
Sharp. Still. Dangerous.
She smiled.
"…Careful, Emma. The world is starting to follow you. Whether you want it to or not."
Emma didn't look back.
She only said:
"Let it try."
Chapter end