Emilia's POV
The room feels like it's closing in, the flickering light throwing long, jagged shadows that dance around the walls. My heart pounds in my chest, each pulse louder than the previous. The masked person stands in the center, their presence smothering. I can't pull my eyes away from them. There's something familiar about the way they carry themselves, the way they tilt their head. But it doesn't make sense.
"Who are you?" I demand, my voice booming across the room. The firearm in my palm feels heavy, my grasp wet with sweat.
The figure doesn't answer. Instead, they take a step closer, their moves deliberate. I push myself to maintain my ground, to not give in to the panic clawing at my chest. Enzo stands by my side, his mouth locked, every muscle in his body rigid. Vincent goes to surround the figure, his gaze furrowed.
"Talk," Enzo growls, his voice low and deadly. "Or I'll make you."
