EMMA
The silence of the penthouse had turned from a sanctuary into a vacuum. The air felt thin, stripped of its oxygen by the crushing weight of the revelation on the screen. Sophie was a hostage, the Royal Mint was a killing floor, and the man I loved was a king whose throne was being dismantled by a corporate psychopath and a mutinous wolf.
Gabriel stood by the window, his silhouette cutting a jagged line against the London skyline. He hadn't moved for ten minutes. He didn't have to; the Bond was broadcasting his state of mind in high-definition. He was a low-frequency hum of apocalyptic rage, a tectonic plate grinding against its neighbor, waiting for the one slip that would trigger the earthquake.
"Viktor is here," Gabriel said, his voice so low it was barely a whisper, yet it fille
