Emilia's POV
The door creaks open slowly, the weak light throwing an extended shadow across the room. I tighten my grasp on the firearm, my heart hammering so fiercely it feels like it would burst out of my chest. Every instinct screams at me to protect Enzo, to fight till my last breath if necessary. I refuse to lose him—not now, not ever.
The figure steps inside, and for a tense minute, silence spreads. The air is dense, choking. Then, a familiar face comes into view. It's Vincent, his expression unreadable.
"Easy," he adds, holding up his hands. "It's just me."
Relief sweeps over me, but it's temporary. "What is it?" I ask, my voice low. "What's wrong?"
His eyes move to Enzo, who's still unconscious but breathing steadily. "They know we're here," he continues, his tone harsh. "We don't have much time."
I feel the ground move beneath me, the frail sense of safety I'd held to breaking. "How?" I demand, forcing myself to be cool. "How did they find us?"
