The enemy's ultimatum
The SUV’s rain-streaked windows turned the city into a smear of light and shadow, neon colors bleeding into one another like wet paint. Streetlamps bent and elongated across the glass, their reflections sliding over Emilia’s face as the vehicle cut through traffic. She sat rigidly in the back seat, hands clasped so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone pale. Fatigue weighed on her bones, but anxiety refused to let her rest. It hummed beneath her skin, sharp and insistent, whispering that something was wrong—that danger was not only near but already watching.
Every instinct she had was screaming at her to look over her shoulder, to search for the unseen eyes she could almost feel pressing into her back. The low vibration of the engine, usually soothing, felt
