Diana: "do you think. Emma found vencor?"
The hideout was quiet.
Night had settled in heavy, thick—no jokes, no movement, no music. Just breathing. The kind of silence that happens when everyone is waiting for one person to come back.
Diana sat on a crate, bandages still tight across her cheek and knuckles. She stared at the floor. Nobody answered her question at first.
Kane sat on the couch, knees pulled up to his chest, face buried in them. He didn't cry anymore—not out loud—but his eyes were swollen.
Celeste stood by the sink, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. She didn't look like she wanted to talk.
Mostang leaned against the wall smoking, but the cigarette had burned to the filter without him even noticing.
Carlo was at the computer—headphones on—monitor glowing, tracking signals, coordinates, movement… anything. His fingers trembled.
Diana finally repeated:
"…Do you think she found him?"
Kane whispered, voice thin:
"Emma… doesn't take this long to handle anyone."
Celeste looked away.
Mostang finally flicked his dead cigarette to the floor.
Carlo spoke—tone low, tired, quiet:
"Her tracker stopped moving six hours ago."
Silence dropped harder than a punch.
Diana's fingers dug into her knees.
Kane's breath hitched.
Celeste's eyes widened.
Mostang straightened, jaw locking.
Carlo didn't turn around. He just stared at the map glowing on the monitor.
"That means," he continued, "she's either resting… or she reached the location."
Diana swallowed something sharp in her throat.
"…Vencor."
Mostang exhaled, slow, shaking:
"Yeah. She's facing him now."
Kane's voice cracked:
"Can she win…?"
No one answered.
Not because they didn't know—
—but because every single one of them remembered the look in Emma's eyes when she walked away.
Calm.
Final.
Like she'd already chosen how her story ends.
Diana stood.
Her expression didn't break, but her voice did—just barely:
"Emma isn't allowed to die."
Mostang looked at her.
Celeste turned.
Kane lifted his head.
Carlo finally took his headphones off.
Diana clenched her fist, the bandages tightening.
"We are not just sitting here waiting to hear she's gone."
The others watched her.
"For Emma…" she said quietly, fire burning through exhaustion, grief, and guilt.
"For our Emma."
Kane stood next.
Celeste followed.
Mostang crushed his cigarette beneath his heel like declaring war.
Carlo's voice came through the speakers as if answering:
"I'll guide you. I'll find her trail."
Diana nodded once.
The room felt alive again.
Emma walked alone.
But she was never alone.
Night wind was cold.
Emma stopped a few meters away.
There he was.
Vencor sat on a cracked stone block in the middle of an abandoned roadside clearing. A single lantern beside him, dim orange light flickering across his face. One leg crossed over the other, back straight, head resting lazily against his hand, like he was waiting for a late appointment.
He didn't look surprised.
He didn't even look impressed.
He looked like he knew she would make it.
Emma stood silent.
Chest rising slow.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just… arrival.
Vencor finally spoke, voice calm—too calm.
"You grew up well, Emma."
No mocking tone.
No fake emotion.
Just observation.
Emma didn't answer.
She stared at him—eyes hollow, tired, cold.
He smiled lightly.
"You walk the same way your father did. Back straight. Steps steady. Purpose clear."
Emma's jaw tightened, but her breathing stayed even.
"…Don't speak about him."
Vencor chuckled quietly.
"Ah… there it is. That tone. That ice. That beautiful emptiness."
His eyes lifted to meet hers—sharp, cruel, knowing.
"Do you even know what you are now?"
Emma didn't blink.
"I am the one who will end you."
Vencor stood up slowly.
He was tall. Taller than Roland. Taller than Ethan. His shadow swallowed the ground in front of him.
The lantern fire bent in the wind.
"You think Roland was your test?" Vencor asked. His hands slid into his coat pockets—relaxed. "No. Roland was nothing but a door. A wall to knock on."
He stepped forward.
"And you knocked loudly."
Emma took one step forward too.
No stance.
No raised fists.
Just presence.
Vencor's smile faded.
"Your friend… the girl with the sharp tongue… Valeria Kross."
He said her name slowly, tasting it.
"I saw the report. She didn't beg. She didn't cry. She died with a smile."
Emma's eyes didn't move.
But the air around her changed.
Something cold enough to choke.
Vencor nodded once, like acknowledging her silence.
"She believed in you."
Emma's fingers curled.
Vencor lowered his voice, almost gentle.
"Don't disappoint her."
The space between them felt like the world was holding its breath.
Emma finally spoke—quiet, steady:
"Don't worry."
She raised her gaze fully into his.
"She will see everything."
Vencor smiled.
"Then come, Emma Elarat."
He spread his arms slightly—no guard, no stance, no fear.
"Show me what her death made you."
The wind shifted.
The lantern flickered out.
No sound.
Then—
Emma moved first.
Chapter end!