The once-bustling bar now lay in ruins, the scent of scorched wood and metal thick in the air. Dust floated lazily through the shafts of light filtering in from the shattered windows. Wooden beams and tables were splintered across the floor, and a gaping hole marred the ceiling, exposing the starry sky above.
Emily coughed as she crawled through the debris, her arms trembling with the effort. She reached Alastor first, his form slumped against the remains of a shattered table. His breathing was shallow, struggling to stay conscious.
"Alastor!" Emily cried, her voice hoarse. Her hands trembled as she touched his shoulder, trying to assess the damage. Blood seeped from his chest where the blade had pierced him, pooling beneath him in a dark stain.
Jack groaned from across the room, pulling Emily's attention. He lay crumpled against the wall, his head lolling to the side. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead, and his eyes fluttered open briefly before closing again.
Emily's heart raced as she pushed herself up, staggering over to him. "Jack! Are you okay?" She crouched beside him, gently touching his uninjured shoulder.
Jack let out a weak groan, his words slurred. "What… what happened? My head… hurts."
Emily's eyes traveled down to his other shoulder, where his shirt was torn and blood had soaked through the fabric. Her breath caught as she realized the extent of the injury—the gash from the Starbreaker blade ran deep, though thankfully, the dark energy hadn't affected him like it had Alastor.
"Jack, your shoulder…" she murmured, her voice barely audible. She pressed her fingers gingerly against the edge of the wound, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from him.
"Yeah," Jack managed through gritted teeth. "One of those guys… got me good." His eyes were glassy, but he managed a weak, humorless chuckle. "Hurts like hell, but… I'll live, right?"
Emily bit her lip, forcing herself to focus. "Not if we don't get you out of here soon." She grabbed a piece of torn fabric from the floor, tying it tightly around his shoulder as a makeshift bandage. "Hold still," she said, her voice steady despite the panic rising in her chest. "I'm stopping the bleeding, but we need to move."
Jack blinked slowly, confusion clouding his face. "The fight… did we win?" He frowned, his brow furrowing. "I… I can't remember. Did Alastor…?"
Emily glanced back at Alastor, torn between the two. Jack needed help—badly. His head injury and shoulder wound were serious, but Alastor's condition was even worse. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself to focus.
"It's okay, Jack. You helped. That's what matters. Just hang in there."
She staggered over the debris, the room spinning slightly. The kiss she'd planted on Alastor earlier burned in her memory—a reckless, impulsive move. But now wasn't the time to unpack her feelings. She could barely think straight through the haze of exhaustion and alcohol. All she knew was that she had to keep moving. Alastor and Jack needed her, and nothing else mattered.
Outside, the patrons who had been ushered out by Emily and Jack lingered uncertainly in the chilly night. Among them were the bar staff, huddled together in anxious silence. Carla, the bartender, paced back and forth, her arms crossed tightly, muttering under her breath.
"I can't believe this," Carla said, her voice trembling. "One second, it was just another shift, and now…" She trailed off, gesturing toward the shattered windows and destroyed bar.
Pete, the lanky barback, leaned against the wall, his long frame tense. "I'm not going back in there. Did you hear that noise? Whatever it was, it sounded like the building was about to collapse."
Ray, a broad-shouldered patron, frowned as he stared at the wreckage. "Jack was still in there," he said quietly, worry evident in his voice. "He's a good kid. We can't just leave him."
Carla paused, her pacing stopping abruptly. "Of course he's still in there," she muttered, her tone bitter with worry. "He's always got to be in the middle of everything."
Pete shot her a glance. "You really think he'll be okay? I mean, he's tough, but this… this is different."
Ray sighed. "He's not alone. He introduced me to his friend earlier—Alastor. That guy… I don't know what his deal is, but he didn't seem like someone who'd back down from a fight. Not to mention Jack was willing to risk his life for him."
Pete raised an eyebrow. "That tall guy with the strange vibe? Yeah, I caught a look at him. Very strange indeed."
"Enough," Brian, the shift manager, interrupted, his voice stern. He stood a little apart from the group, arms crossed tightly. "We're not running in there blind. Whatever's happening in there is way beyond us. We've got to wait it out and make sure no one else gets hurt."
Carla glared at him, her arms dropping to her sides. "So, what? We just stand here? Jack's still in there, Brian. And now we've got explosions, weird lights, and—" She threw her arms up. "We can't just do nothing!"
Her words were cut off by the sound of footsteps crunching over debris. All eyes turned toward the shattered doorway as Emily emerged, supporting Alastor on one side and Jack on the other. She staggered under their combined weight, her breaths shallow and labored. Alastor's face was pale while Jack's head lolled to the side, blood streaking his temple and staining his torn shirt. The dark stain on his shoulder indicated a deeper injury, and the makeshift bandage Emily had tied earlier was already soaked through.
The group froze, a mix of fear, confusion, and recognition etched on their faces.
"Jack!" Ray called, rushing toward them. "Hey, what happened? Are you okay?"
Jack groaned weakly, his eyes fluttering open. "Ray…? Man, I've been better." He grimaced as he shifted slightly, the pain in his shoulder making him wince.
"What the hell happened in there?" Carla demanded, stepping closer but keeping a wary distance from Alastor. Her eyes flicked to Emily. "And who the hell are you?"
Emily barely spared her a glance, focusing on keeping Alastor and Jack upright. "Not now," she said sharply. "They're hurt. I need to get them somewhere safe."
Brian stepped forward, his tone firm. "Safe? You don't just walk out of a destroyed bar with two injured people and expect us not to ask questions. Who are you, and what were you doing in there?"
Emily's grip tightened on Alastor, her voice steady but cold. "They're my responsibility. That's all you need to know."
Pete hesitated, his lanky frame trembling slightly as he knelt beside Alastor. His hands hovered over the wound on Alastor's chest, unsure whether to touch or stay back. His voice wavered with worry. "Man… that wound—it's deep. What can we do? How do we help?"
Emily shot him a sharp look, her tone icy but not unkind. "He's hurt, but he'll be fine."
Pete ignored her, his concern overriding his nerves as he leaned closer, examining the jagged edges of the wound. "This doesn't look normal," he muttered, glancing at Emily with wide, anxious eyes. "It's like… it's burning from the inside. Are you sure he's going to be okay?"
Emily softened just slightly, her gaze shifting to Alastor's pale face. "He's stronger than he looks," she said quietly, her voice tinged with both worry and determination. "But we need to act fast."
Ray stepped closer, his concern outweighing his fear. "Jack, are you sure you're okay? Your shoulder—" His gaze landed on the blood-soaked bandage. "That looks bad, man."
Jack managed a weak laugh, though it turned into a grimace. "Hurts like hell," he admitted, his voice strained. "But I'll… manage."
A young woman from the crowd stepped forward hesitantly, her voice trembling. "Is there anything we can do to help? He looks really bad."
Emily hesitated, guilt flickering in her eyes. "No. The best thing you can do is leave. You didn't see anything. You don't know us."
Brian stepped in her path. "Leave? You've got to be kidding. Someone's going to want answers about this."
Emily's voice turned icy. "The answers won't help you. The best thing you can do is forget this ever happened. Go home."
Carla crossed her arms, her voice rising. "You expect us to just walk away? After all this? After what we saw?"
Emily adjusted her grip on Alastor, her patience wearing thin. "If you don't, you're putting yourselves in danger. This isn't something you want to get involved in. Trust me."
The group exchanged uneasy glances. Finally, Brian sighed and stepped aside. "Fine. But don't think this is the end of it. People are going to have questions."
Carla hesitated, her face hard but her voice tinged with worry. "You can't just disappear. Someone will come looking for you. For him." She nodded toward Alastor.
Emily's gaze softened, just slightly. "Let them. But you stay out of it."
As Emily staggered away with Alastor and Jack, Ray called out one last time. "Jack, you take care of yourself, you hear me? We'll talk when this is over."
Jack grunted faintly in acknowledgment, his head lolling back as Emily dragged him forward, his shoulder visibly stiff with pain. The remaining patrons and staff began to disperse, some hurrying away while others lingered briefly, casting uneasy glances at the retreating trio before disappearing into the night.
Emily gritted her teeth as she navigated the empty streets in her old sedan, the faint hum of the engine the only sound cutting through the tense silence. Alastor and Jack lay slumped in the backseat, their injuries stark under the dim light filtering through the car's windows. She kept glancing at them in the rearview mirror, her chest tightening with every ragged breath Alastor took, every groan of discomfort Jack let out.
"Jack, stay with me," Emily urged, her voice trembling with both fear and exhaustion. "We're almost there."
Jack's eyes fluttered open briefly, a dazed smile tugging at his lips. "You… you're bossy," he murmured, his voice slurred. "Telling me what to do."
Emily let out a shaky laugh, her hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as her tears threatened to spill. "And you never listen. So don't start now."
She spared a glance at Alastor, whose head was tilted back against the seat, his face pale and streaked with blood. Her chest tightened further. "Not you too," she whispered under her breath, her heart aching. "You're going to be okay. Both of you."
Her mind raced as she navigated the quiet streets of Brooklyn Heights. The upscale neighborhood, usually bustling even at night, felt unnervingly empty. The row of brownstones and polished apartments stood like silent sentinels, their lights dimmed as the city around them seemed oblivious to the chaos that had just unfolded miles away.
The tension in the car was suffocating, each bump in the road making Emily flinch as Jack groaned softly or Alastor shifted slightly in pain. She felt like her mind was stretched to its limit, a whirlwind of fear and exhaustion pulling her in every direction.
Her thoughts strayed to Jack. The way he'd blinked at her earlier, confused and disoriented, asking what had happened. Relief mingled with guilt as she recalled his slurred admission: "I… I can't remember."
It was better this way, she told herself, gripping the wheel harder. Jack didn't need to remember the impossible. The glowing eyes, the shockwave, the power that radiated from Alastor—it wasn't something Jack could process. If he did, he'd ask questions, try to piece it together, and maybe even put himself in more danger. She couldn't let that happen. Not to Jack.
But even as she rationalized it, a pang of guilt gnawed at her. Was it right to keep him in the dark? Would it come back to haunt them later?
She forced herself to focus on the road ahead, on the task at hand. Protecting them. Keeping them alive.
The car came to a shuddering halt in front of a modest brownstone building on a quiet, tree-lined street.
The faint hum of the engine was like a lullaby, pulling at Emily's fraying concentration. Her hands gripped the wheel, knuckles white, as her mind flitted between the impossible events of the night. "You're reckless, Alastor," she muttered to herself. Her head felt heavy, the alcohol and exhaustion making her thoughts sluggish. "You're reckless, and I kissed you, and you're glowing like a damn star. What the hell is wrong with me?" She sniffed, wiping at her eyes, even though no tears had fallen. "And Jack… God, Jack. Why are you always in the middle of everything?"
Her head throbbed, the alcohol still clouding her mind, but the adrenaline refused to let her stop. "Focus," she muttered to herself, even as her vision swayed for a moment.
She let out a shaky breath, the weight of her words hanging in the stale air.
With a surge of determination, she jumped out, her legs trembling from both exertion and nerves. She opened the back door, her hands shaking as she gently tried to rouse Jack.
"Jack, we're here," she said softly, crouching to support his weight as she helped him out of the car. He groaned, leaning heavily on her as she maneuvered him toward the building's entrance.
Then she turned back to Alastor. He hadn't moved. Her heart twisted as she crouched down beside him, brushing his dark hair out of his face. "Alastor," she whispered, her voice thick with worry. "We're here. Come on, just a little further."
Alastor's fainted eyes flickered open for a brief moment, his lips moving as if to respond, but no sound came out. Emily swallowed hard, her exhaustion screaming at her to stop, to rest, but she didn't have the luxury.
She managed to get him out of the car, his larger frame sagging heavily against her. Balancing both men had been hard enough on foot, but now, climbing the stairs to her second-floor apartment with one of them barely conscious and the other likely concussed felt insurmountable.
"You're going to hate me for this tomorrow," she muttered under her breath as she hauled Jack and Alastor inside, one painstaking step at a time.
The cramped, second-floor apartment was eerily quiet as Emily eased Alastor onto the couch, then helped Jack into a nearby armchair. Her entire body screamed in protest, her muscles trembling from the effort. Jack groaned, his head lolling back as he sank into the cushions, and Emily caught a glimpse of the blood still seeping through the makeshift bandage on his shoulder.
"You need to stay awake," Emily said, crouching beside him. She gently tilted his head to inspect the gash on his forehead. The sight of the wound on his shoulder made her stomach twist, but she forced herself to stay focused. "You might have a concussion."
Jack blinked at her, his expression hazy. "Concussion… sounds about right. What… what did we even do back there?"
Emily hesitated, her heart pounding. She glanced briefly at his shoulder, her guilt flaring again at the sight of the blood-stained fabric. "You don't remember?"
Jack shook his head slowly, then winced at the movement. His hand instinctively reached toward his shoulder but faltered halfway. "Just… bits and pieces. You, me, fighting those masked guys. I think Alastor got hit, right? But the rest is fuzzy."
Emily let out a breath, her chest tightening. He didn't remember the shockwave, or Alastor's glowing eyes, or the impossible force that had saved them all. Relief mingled with guilt as she placed a hand on his arm. "It's probably the head injury," she said gently, her eyes flickering to his shoulder. "And… the cut on your shoulder. Let me see it after you rest a bit. Just… rest for now. We'll talk later."
Jack nodded faintly, his eyes drifting shut. "Yeah… later," he murmured, his voice slurring as exhaustion took hold.
Emily stood and grabbed the first aid kit from the small cabinet near the sink, her hands shaking. The sight of Jack's blood-streaked shoulder haunted her, but she pushed the thoughts away. She'd patch him up properly after she dealt with Alastor.
Once Jack was settled, Emily turned her attention to Alastor. His breathing was shallow, and his face was pale, but his faint eyes flickered open as she leaned over him. A sharp pang of worry coursed through her as she took in his state. He looked… diminished, almost fragile, and that scared her more than anything.
"You're… persistent," Alastor murmured, his voice barely audible.
Emily's throat tightened. "And you're reckless. You could've gotten yourself killed."
Alastor's lips twitched into a faint smile. "Not… yet."
Emily shook her head, biting back tears. "Just rest. We'll figure everything out later."
She grabbed a clean cloth and a bowl of water, setting them on the table beside him. As she reached for the medical supplies, her gaze landed on his blood-soaked shirt. Her stomach churned, but she steadied herself. This wasn't the time to hesitate.
"Okay, I need to treat your chest wound properly," she muttered, more to herself than to him. Her hands trembled slightly as she unbuttoned his shirt. The fabric was stiff with dried blood, and as she peeled it back, her breath caught.
Alastor's chest was undeniably impressive—lean, muscular, and marred by a mix of scars and the fresh wound she needed to treat. For a brief, embarrassing moment, she froze, her face heating. Focus, Emily. This is not the time.
She cleared her throat and forced her gaze to the task at hand. "Well, at least you're built tough," she muttered under her breath, trying to shake off her awkwardness.
Alastor's lips twitched faintly, but he said nothing. Whether he noticed her discomfort or was simply too weak to comment, Emily was grateful for his silence.
She cleaned the wound carefully, pressing the damp cloth to his chest to wipe away the blood. When she finished with the front, she hesitated. "I need to check your back too," she said, her tone more professional now. She helped him shift slightly, enough to expose the matching gash on his back. The wound was deep, but thankfully not as bad as she'd feared.
"This is going to sting," she warned softly, though she doubted he cared much about the pain at this point.
Alastor grunted faintly as she worked, his breathing steady but shallow. Emily wrapped the bandage tightly around his torso, looping it carefully over his chest and around his back to secure both wounds. Her fingers brushed his skin a few times as she adjusted the bandage, but she pushed past the awkwardness, her focus razor-sharp.
"There," she said finally, sitting back to inspect her work. "That should hold for now."
Her arms screamed with every motion, and her knees wobbled as she knelt beside him. She was running on fumes, her body begging her to stop, to collapse. But she couldn't—not yet. Alastor needed her. Jack needed her. The weight of responsibility sat heavy on her chest, an invisible force that threatened to crush her.
"You're not allowed to give up," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Not now."
Her vision swam as she worked, her exhaustion clawing at her resolve. She didn't even notice the tears sliding down her cheeks until one dripped onto Alastor's arm. She wiped it away with the back of her hand, cursing herself for being so weak.
Finally, Emily let out a shaky breath and sank to the floor beside him, her back pressing against the couch. Her entire body ached, and her mind felt like it was teetering on the edge of collapse. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself a sliver of rest.
For now, they were safe—but the weight of what had happened, and what was still to come, pressed heavily on her chest.
Alastor's faint voice broke the silence. "You're trembling."
Emily opened her eyes, realizing how tightly her arms were wrapped around herself. "It's nothing. Just tired," she mumbled, her voice strained. But the words didn't quite mask her turmoil.
She hesitated, her mind flitting back to the bar. The kiss. The way she had lunged at him, driven by a swirl of anger, confusion, and drunken impulses. The memory brought a fresh wave of embarrassment, and she rubbed her temples, trying to will the image away.
"About… earlier," she began, her voice hesitant, barely above a whisper. Alastor's flickering eyes shifted toward her. "I—I'm sorry."
"For what?" he asked, his voice soft but tinged with curiosity.
Emily swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the blood-stained cloth in her hands. "The kiss," she admitted, her cheeks flushing. "I wasn't thinking straight. I shouldn't have done that. It was… uncalled for."
Alastor was quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint twitch of his lips, he murmured, "I've faced assassins and intergalactic hunters. A kiss doesn't rank high on my list of dangers."
Emily let out a weak laugh, though it was tinged with guilt. "That's not the point," she said, her voice softening. "It wasn't fair to you. You don't… deserve to be dragged into my mess."
Alastor's gaze held hers, steady despite the exhaustion evident in his features. "You're not a mess," he said simply, the sincerity in his tone catching her off guard. "You're human."
Emily bit her lip, her chest tightening at his words. The simplicity of his statement, the lack of judgment, made her feel both seen and exposed in a way she wasn't ready for. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "But still… I'm sorry."
Alastor's eyes closed, and his breathing evened out slightly, though his voice was still faint when he replied. "Apology accepted."
Emily let the silence settle again, her head tilting back against the couch. The tension in her shoulders eased slightly, though her exhaustion was still a heavy weight pressing down on her. Whatever awkwardness lingered from her apology, she could at least take solace in the fact that he hadn't pushed her away.
Emily took a deep breath, pulling herself to her feet despite her aching body. She wiped her hands on her pants, leaving smudges of dried blood on the fabric, and turned her attention to Jack. He was slumped in the armchair, his head tipped back, his breathing steady but shallow.
"Alright, your turn," she muttered, grabbing the first aid kit she'd fished out earlier. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling slightly as she inspected the gash on his forehead. The blood had dried in jagged streaks, and the wound looked worse under the harsh light of her living room lamp.
"Jack," she called softly, tapping his uninjured shoulder to rouse him. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused but vaguely aware.
"Still here," he mumbled, a weak smile playing on his lips. "Barely."
Emily shook her head, her lips twitching despite herself. "You're lucky you're stubborn." She wet a clean cloth and dabbed gently at the gash, wincing every time he flinched. "This might sting."
"Stings already," Jack muttered, hissing as she pressed a bit harder to clean the wound. "You sure you're not trying to punish me for something?"
"Stop being dramatic," Emily retorted, though her voice remained soft. She cleaned the wound carefully, working around the edges to avoid causing unnecessary pain. When she finished, she applied an antiseptic and began wrapping a bandage around his forehead.
As she worked, her gaze drifted to his shoulder. The tear in his shirt revealed a deep cut where the Starbreaker blade had sliced through. The blood had slowed, but the wound needed immediate attention. She tugged his shirt down gently, trying to get a better look.
"Shoulder too, huh?" she said, her brow furrowing.
Jack winced as her fingers brushed against the cut. "Yeah, got me pretty bad. But, hey, at least it wasn't glowing or anything."
Emily snorted softly. "Small blessings, I guess. Hold still."
She worked silently, cleaning and dressing the wound with practiced care. Jack hissed a few times but otherwise stayed still, his gaze following her movements. When she finished wrapping his shoulder, she sat back on her heels, letting out a long breath.
"You're all patched up," she said, closing the first aid kit.
"Thanks, Doc," Jack quipped, his grin widening. Then, after a moment of silence, he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly. "So… about that kiss."
Emily froze, her face immediately heating up. "What—what about it?" she stammered, avoiding his gaze as she busied herself with putting away the supplies.
Jack's grin turned faintly mischievous. "You kissed him. Didn't think you had it in you, honestly. But what's the story there?"
"I wasn't right in mind," Emily said quickly, her voice defensive. She shoved the first aid kit onto the coffee table, her movements sharp and jerky. "It didn't mean anything."
Jack raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Sure it didn't. You've been running around taking care of him like he's some kind of VIP."
Emily shot him a glare, her cheeks burning. "You're impossible."
Jack leaned back with a slight wince, though his smirk remained. "And you're blushing. Admit it—you've got a thing for him."
"I do not," Emily protested, her voice higher than she intended. She crossed her arms, turning slightly away from him. "I was just trying to help. That's all."
"Uh-huh," Jack replied, the teasing tone still there but softer. "Well, whatever you say. Just don't forget to take care of yourself too, okay?"
Emily gave him a sidelong glance, her irritation melting into something warmer. "Thanks," she muttered, her voice quiet. Then, after a beat, she added, "You're still annoying, though."
Jack chuckled lightly, letting his head rest against the chair. "Yeah, but you'd be lost without me."
"Debatable," Emily muttered, her lips twitching into a faint smile.
Jack let out a small sigh. "By the way… I need to feel better by tomorrow."
Emily raised an eyebrow, her tone turning slightly skeptical. "Why? You planning to run into more trouble?"
Jack smirked faintly. "Nope. Got a date. Hannah's her name."
Emily blinked, momentarily thrown off. "You? A date?" She crossed her arms and gave him a mock-critical once-over. "With someone who signed up for that willingly?"
"Very funny," Jack replied dryly. "But yeah. She's expecting me tomorrow, so I've got to look presentable."
Emily shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Well, you'd better get it together, then. Show up looking like this, and she's definitely going to be disappointed."
Jack grinned despite the pain in his shoulder. "Not a chance. I'll be fine by then."
"Better be," Emily muttered, standing and brushing her hands off. "Because if you're not, you'll ruin my work, and I'll be the one disappointed."
Jack chuckled softly, his expression relaxing. "Deal."
As the tension between them eased, Emily stood and checked on Alastor, who was still resting on the couch, his breathing even but shallow. She pulled a blanket over him, her earlier embarrassment fading into a quiet resolve. Yet, as she lingered there, her thoughts began to swirl, dredging up memories and questions that had haunted her for weeks.
Derek.
His name felt like a stone in her chest, heavy and unrelenting. Derek had been her closest friend in high school—the one person who could make her laugh when things got hard, who always had her back. Losing him had been like losing a part of herself, but finding out the truth—or at least, fragments of it—had shattered her world all over again. Derek wasn't just gone; he had been replaced. His identity stolen by someone, or something, that looked exactly like him.
Levanzo.
She had spent countless nights digging, trying to piece together anything she could about him—the man who walked in Derek's skin, who claimed his life as if it were a mask to wear. The investigation had consumed her, filling every waking moment with questions she couldn't answer. She thought back to how she'd confronted Alastor about it, her suspicions sharpening every time he deflected her questions.
There was always something about Alastor—an air of mystery he refused to explain. She'd pushed, prodded, demanded answers, but he had a way of brushing her off without ever giving anything away. His evasions had only made her press harder. And Rachel… Rachel had been no better. Every time Emily had tried to corner her, Rachel had responded with the same cryptic half-answers, deflecting with the same frustrating precision as Alastor.
Now it all made sense.
Emily's gaze lingered on Alastor, her chest tightening as a wave of understanding washed over her. The way he carried himself, the weight he seemed to bear, his constant refusal to let anyone get too close—it wasn't just arrogance or detachment. It was something deeper. Something heavier.
The realization hit her like a freight train. Derek's death, the impersonation, Levanzo… Alastor knew. He had always known. And Rachel knew too. She could see it now, the way they'd both skirted her questions, the way they shared unspoken glances whenever the topic of Levanzo came up. They were hiding something from her. Something big.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides as anger and grief twisted inside her. Why wouldn't they tell her? Why keep her in the dark when Derek had meant so much to her? She had spent months chasing shadows, trying to unravel a truth that they clearly already knew. The thought stung, like a betrayal she hadn't seen coming.
But then she looked at Alastor again. His face was pale, his usually sharp features softened by exhaustion. For all his strength, for all his mystery, he looked so fragile in this moment. Vulnerable. The anger in her chest softened, replaced by something more complicated. Sympathy, perhaps. Or frustration at how much she still didn't understand about him.
Emily sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat down on the edge of the coffee table, her gaze never leaving Alastor. She thought of Derek's smile, the way he'd always made her feel safe, and compared it to the guarded man lying in front of her. How could someone like Alastor be tied to the nightmare she'd uncovered? What was his connection to Levanzo, to Derek's death, to all of it?
And why did Rachel defend him so fiercely?
The questions threatened to consume her, but she knew she wouldn't get answers tonight. She doubted she ever would—not unless Alastor decided to stop running from the truth. But for now, she would let it go. There were more pressing matters at hand.
Emily pulled the blanket snug around Alastor's shoulders, her expression softening as she whispered, "You're not getting away from me that easily. Not this time."