Emma sat at her desk, her back rigidly turned against Tyrion, her fingers tapping softly on the surface as the minutes passed by in silence. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air, the room too quiet for her liking.
Tyrion's presence, however, never felt like a mere formality. There was something about his tone today, something off, but Emma didn't let it show. She had too much on her plate to allow such distractions.
With a cold, even voice, she spoke, not bothering to look at him. "Have you done it?"
Tyrion's answer was quick, but Emma could hear the slight hesitation in his words, a shift in the air. "Yes, ma'am, but... her friend took the bullet for her."
The words hung in the air, far too casual for the gravity of the situation. Emma's grip on her pen tightened ever so slightly, her pulse picking up. "Her friend?" she asked, as if the very idea were some kind of joke. A piece of the puzzle clicking into place, though she didn't let it show. Not yet.
"Yes, ma'am." Tyrion's voice was flat, like he didn't expect the question at all.
Emma's gaze sharpened. "Is her friend dead?"
Tyrion's response was slow, as though measuring the weight of it. "She's in a coma."
Her chest tightened, but she didn't let it show. She could feel the anger bubbling up from deep within, though she kept her face neutral. A coma? That wasn't what she had planned. Athena's life was supposed to be the one hanging in the balance, not some insignificant bystander.
"What about the girl herself?" Emma bit out, voice hardening.
Tyrion hesitated again, and the tiny moment of silence felt like an eternity. "Our spy told us she's too heartbroken to think of anything right now."
Emma smirked coldly, the flicker of something dangerous in her eyes. "Then leave her for now. She's harmless."
She stood and walked over to the window, her silhouette sharp against the bright sunlight streaming in. Her back was to him, but Tyrion knew the shift in the air. Emma had already moved past this, already on to the next thing. "Does Stephan know he revealed the truth of everything when drunk?"
Tyrion's voice, still steady, answered her question, but she didn't quite believe the calmness in his tone. "No, ma'am, he didn't remember anything when he woke up."
She turned back, her eyes narrowing. Good. She needed Stephan to remain a pawn. He couldn't be allowed to remember. "Make sure he doesn't go out for a week. I don't want to see him anywhere near Rowena's daughter." The thought of them together, of her son so close to the enemy, sent a ripple of irritation through her.
"Okay, ma'am."
Her lips curled into something sinister, the wheels turning in her mind. "And set him up with girls. He needs to forget about that wild girl."
She wasn't sure what it was about Rowena's daughter that unsettled her so much. Athena had something her son couldn't seem to shake off, and Emma wasn't used to losing control. She wasn't used to someone slipping past her defenses. "Did you talk to the commissioner of police already?" she demanded.
"Yes, ma'am. He's covered our tracks."
Emma's lips pressed into a thin line. Good. They could keep pushing, keep playing this game. But something—something—was beginning to gnaw at the edge of her confidence. "Perfect. You may leave."
Tyrion bowed slightly and turned, but the door hadn't even fully clicked shut before Emma spoke again. "I've always known that girl was suspicious." She laughed softly, bitterly. "Wouldn't have known if not for my son." She snorted at the thought of Athena, barely a child, thinking she could take on a force like her family. "A little girl still stinking of her mother's milk wants to go against my family? What a joke."
Her hand reached for the phone, eyes flickering over the message that had just come through. It was time. Her pulse quickened, and she tossed the phone onto her desk.
The walk to North's office was like stepping into another world, colder, darker. The air seemed to press in on her as she approached his door, but she didn't hesitate. She never hesitated. She was Emma. She had the power. She had the control.
When she stepped into his office, it was as if everything inside her froze. North's eyes were already on her, cold and unyielding, like fire barely contained behind those dark irises.
"Why did you call me here?" Her voice was calm, cold, unbothered, but something in the way she said it seemed to ignite something dangerous in him.
North didn't even blink. "What the hell did you do?" The fury in his voice cut through her, jagged and raw.
Emma tilted her head slightly, the calmest she had been all day. "What do you mean?" She could feel the change in the air. She was ready to walk away, to leave whatever storm was brewing behind her.
"You sent assassins after Rowena's daughter." North's voice was venomous, like each word was dripping with lethal intent.
Emma's smile didn't falter, not even for a second. "Is there anything wrong with that?"
His expression twisted in a flash, and before she could take a breath, North was standing, moving toward her with a speed that startled her, a wild animal on the verge of losing control. His hands closed around her neck with a force so sudden and brutal that she gasped, the air seizing in her throat. She couldn't react fast enough, her hands scratching at his wrists as he lifted her off the ground. Her legs kicked helplessly beneath her, but it didn't matter. His grip tightened, suffocating, unrelenting.
"You should be thankful she's not dead, or I'll crush your neck and send you to hell along with her." His voice was a low growl, deep and threatening, the fury in it palpable.
Emma's eyes widened for the briefest moment, a flicker of disbelief. North had always been cold, but this… this was something else. His rage was like a storm, and she was the one in its path.
"Why are you... overreacting?" She choked out the words, her hands trembling as she tried to break free.
"Overreacting?" North's voice was chilling, his grip unyielding as he brought his face close to hers. "Do you think Rowena would ever continue working with us if her daughter dies?" His eyes bore into her with such intensity that Emma felt the weight of his words like a physical blow. "You're too naive to think Rowena doesn't have a way of keeping tabs on that girl."
Her face burned with the effort to stay conscious, to retain some semblance of control. The world around her felt like it was spinning, fading in and out as she gasped for air. "I'm sorry, let go of me." The words were weak, trembling on her lips, but the powerlessness stung like acid.
North's laughter was dark and humorless. "Let this be the first and the last time, Emma," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "Next time, I won't have mercy."
He released her, dropping her like a ragdoll. Emma crumpled to the floor, hands pressed to her throat as she fought to breathe. North didn't spare her another glance. He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped his hands clean of her, and dropped it carelessly to the floor.
"Get out." His voice was cold, final.
Emma staggered to her feet, barely managing to steady herself. Her throat burned, her eyes blurred with fury, but she knew—she knew—this wasn't over.
The door clicked shut behind her, but as she walked down the hall, fury bubbling inside her, she swore one thing: Athena would pay.