(Enzo's POV)
I've never been good at waiting.
Danger, I can handle. Danger gives you something to do with your hands, a direction to move, an enemy you can actually see coming. Waiting gives you nothing except your own mind, circling the same fears over and over until they wear grooves into you that don't ever quite smooth back out.
Emma didn't say much that first night. She sat on the porch steps long after dark, arms wrapped around her knees, staring at nothing, and I sat beside her because there wasn't anything useful to say that wouldn't sound hollow against the size of what she was feeling.
"I keep telling myself she's fine," Emma finally said, somewhere close to midnight. "That Papa Niel's there, that there are house staff, that Bruce isn't going to do anything with witnesses aro
