EMMA
The silence that followed Gabriel’s admission was a different kind of cold than the Alpine wind. It was the cold of a secret long-buried, now unearthed and raw between us. I pulled the discarded leather jacket around my bare shoulders, the scent of him clinging to the hide, but it offered no warmth against the sudden hollow in my chest.
"Clara," I whispered, the name tasting like ash. "The woman from the message. Your second-in-command’s sister? Or something more?"
Gabriel finally turned to face me. The golden light had drained completely from his eyes, leaving them a fractured, stormy green. He looked older in the dying firelight, the weight of the Lune Noire’s history etched into the lines around his mouth.
"In our world, Emma, things are rarely simple," he began, his voice a lo
