Emma's POV
There's a strange clarity that comes after fear.
Not during it.
Not before it.
After.
Fear is loud when it arrives—sharp, blinding, overwhelming. It demands attention, obedience, retreat. But once it has passed, once it has done its worst and found no purchase, something quieter moves in behind it.
Resolve.
I felt it settle into my bones as I stood alone in the glass-walled conference room, the city stretching endlessly behind me. My reflection hovered faintly in the glass—overlaid on steel and sky—and for the first time in a long while, I didn't flinch at the sight of myself.
The woman staring back wasn't small.
She wasn't braced for impact.
She was still.
Grounded.
The meeting had ended ten minutes ago. I hadn't moved. I needed the stillness, needed the silence to catch up with my thoughts. My hands rested flat against the table, fingertips cool against the surface, anchoring me in the present.
Ethan had reached out.
Not directly.
Not yet.
But he would.
