Emma sat back down in the chair, her gaze dark and heavy, knuckles tightening slightly as though she were suppressing a shiver summoned by old memories. Her voice dropped, emerging like a warning scraped from deep in her throat—laced with shadows that could not be ignored:
"You don't know how ruthless he is."
She didn't speak his name, only referred to him as he, but the understanding between them was absolute.
"Back then, I was young, just beginning to learn the art of assassination. The first thing he ever taught me was: 'Before you slit the throat, cut off the air. Don't give the prey a chance to scream.'"
Livia felt a chill crawl up her spine as she listened.
Emma continued, "He can reshape his body at will, just to hide in places no one else could reach. His techniques, his spies, his traps—none of them are things an ordinary person could imagine. If he says he can identify who passed through a place, I believe it. He probably has a hundred ways to do it." Her voice turned cold as ice. "Even if all you did was breathe, he could figure out who you are."
She added sharply, "If you ever cross him, be careful. He's not anyone's pawn—he plays his own game. A man like that won't serve anyone willingly."
Livia lowered her eyes, thinking to herself: Of course I know. He was once the most important master in my life—and the one I fear facing the most.
Her fingers curled slightly into her palm.
As she looked at Emma, she suddenly realized that beneath her calm surface was a complete, unspoken decision to distance herself.
Emma's gaze was as still as water—not with peace, but with a quiet finality, like someone who had already said goodbye in her heart. Her tone remained unchanged:
"If he wants to find us, he'll have ten thousand ways to track us down—maybe even trace us backward. He's definitely laid something down already. From now on, anywhere we go—any ruins, any hideouts—we have to be careful not to leave a gap he can exploit."
Livia nodded. "Don't worry. We won't move for now. Things are too noisy—too risky to be seen."
Her voice softened, caught on a breath of emotion. "Emma, thank you… for always being here. If it weren't for you, I might not have made it back."
Emma gave a quiet laugh, though the weight in it went unsaid.
"If you thank me again, I'm leaving."
She lowered her gaze, then spoke softly, "If he's recognized the markers… then I really can't stay by your side anymore."
Her voice was light, as if she were stating something mundane—but it was firm, undeniable.
"Even a hint of suspicion, and he'll chase it to the end. I thought I'd hidden well enough by your side. But now—if he starts to doubt, he'll never let it go."
Livia quickly said, "I told him those markings came from Elias's people. I didn't bring you into it. You won't be exposed."
Emma only smiled faintly. It was a smile meant to comfort Livia—but perhaps more so to comfort herself.
"You did your best. I know."
She paused, turned, and walked over to the window. Outside, the wind tossed the branches violently. Her voice was calm, almost distant:
"But if it's him… I'm not taking chances."
Her eyes lowered, glinting like frozen glass.
"I won't let him find me. And more importantly—I won't let him drag you down with me."
Livia didn't know what to say. Her chest tightened with a dull ache.
She wanted to persuade her again, but Emma cut in:
"Don't worry. I'm not leaving right away."
She turned back with her usual light smile, as if nothing had changed:
"You still need me. Of course I'll stay."
Livia stared at her, sensing something hidden beneath those words.
Emma walked over, and with her usual calm gesture, lightly patted Livia on the shoulder—quiet and comforting, just like before. But it didn't feel like a promise.
"Don't worry. Once things quiet down, we'll go find the next fragment together."
Livia nodded faintly—but the fingers resting on her shoulder were cold and firm, like they could slip away from her life at any moment.
She couldn't help but murmur, "You promised… don't leave without saying goodbye."
Emma looked at her. For a moment, her eyes softened—but then returned to their calm.
"If I go, I'll tell you."
She paused, then added in a quiet voice:
"Though… I hope I won't have to leave so soon."
In that moment, Livia understood:
She wouldn't try to stop her.
And Emma wouldn't hesitate if the time came.
But they were both leaving space for each other in the only way they knew how—without confrontation, and without surrender.
The wind outside howled louder, making the wooden window creak.
The two of them exchanged a glance, no more words spoken.
Yet in their silence, both understood clearly:
The storm had only just begun.