The physical aftermath of our encounter was a heavy, lingering presence in the air. I felt a profound sense of incompleteness, that frustrating hum of unfinished business that left my nerves frayed. Eva White’s internal muscles had been a relentless, pulsing vice, a testament to her relative inexperience and the raw intensity of the moment. We were two young animals caught in a cage, and the cage was currently surrounded by a predator of a different sort.
We were trapped on the second floor of this sprawling mansion, a monument to the kind of wealth that usually only exists in movies. Two separate battlefields had unfolded simultaneously: one on the velvet sofa where Eva White’s father had been tangled with Emma Hopkins, and one here in the darkness of the walk-in closet where I sat amids
