For a second, Emily couldn't move.
Victoria slammed into the little stage and grabbed her by the arms. The scissors in Emily's hand jerked dangerously close to both of them.
Gasps ripped through the crowd. Security shouted.
“Elizabeth," Victoria panted, nails digging into the fabric of her dress. “It's really you—"
Emily snapped back.
She twisted free, yanked the scissors away and slammed them onto the velvet cushion.
“Don't touch me," she said.
Victoria staggered, heels wobbling. For a heartbeat, Emily thought she would fall. She almost wanted her to.
Rage shot up, hot and sharp.
Her hand lifted before she knew it. One slap. Years of grief, of hospital corridors and straps and electricity, packed into her palm.
Her fingers curled.
Then she saw the phones.
Dozens of them, raise
