EMMA
Gabriel didn’t raise his voice.
That was the most terrifying part.
One second Damien was still speaking—soft, poisonous words meant only for me—and the next, Gabriel was there. He didn’t touch Damien. He didn’t touch me. He simply stepped forward, positioning himself squarely between us like a living wall.
A deliberate barrier.
The air changed instantly.
It wasn’t dramatic in a cinematic way. No shouting. No fists. No sudden movement. Just pressure. Thick, suffocating pressure that wrapped around my lungs and squeezed.
Gabriel’s shoulders were rigid, broad back blocking my view of Damien completely. His hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers flexing once, then stilling—as if he were reminding himself they were hands, not weapons.
“Conversation’s over,” Gabriel said calmly.
