When fear becomes real
Emilia had always believed fear was something distant, theoretical—an idea that existed in margins and fine print rather than in flesh and breath. It lived in documents she had skimmed but never fully read, in contracts layered with warnings and clauses meant to intimidate rather than inform. Fear spoke in lowered voices during meetings that ended too quickly, in glances exchanged when she entered a room unexpectedly. It hummed through glowing screens and encrypted messages, never quite solid enough to touch. Even on the night the mansion’s perimeter had been breached—when alarms howled and adrenaline burned hot through her veins—fear had been sharp and fleeting, a spike that came and went. She had acted then. She had moved. She had survived.
This was different.
