EMMA
The penthouse was no longer a sanctuary; it was a glass-walled bunker, and the ticking of the clock felt like a countdown to an explosion. The GPS dot moved with a sickening, steady intent toward us, and the air was thick with the scent of ozone and Gabriel’s repressed violence.
"He’s coming," I whispered, the word catching in my throat. "Gabriel, the feed—he’s ten minutes out."
Gabriel didn't look at the screen. He was looking at me, his eyes glowing with that terrifying, iridescent amber. The "Bond" between us was screaming, a high-voltage wire that vibrated with every jagged breath I took. The fear wasn't a cold thing anymore; it was a frantic, white-hot heat that demanded to be extinguished.
"We have ten minutes," Gabriel rasped, his voice sounding like it was being dragged ov
