Zach clockedher approach at fifty yards.
He knew it was her from her footsteps. The cadence was wrong for anyone else—too measured, too controlled. Emma always moved with purpose, but not like this, not like she was bracing for impact.
Her steps slowed once, near the edge of the path, as if reconsidering, then continued.
She’d made a decision and planned to stick with it.
Most people didn’t notice the small things—the shift in air pressure, the change in footfall, the way tension carried through someone’s shoulders. Zach noticed everything.
Tonight, she walked like someone prepared for a fight. Not panicked or uncertain, but deliberate. Like she’d already chosen her ground.
He didn’t turn from his throwing target. The blade in his hand was perfectly balanced, custom-made. He evaluated the weight distribution, the center of gravity.
Predictable. Controlled.
Unlike everything else right now.
He’d thrown this knife ten thousand times. Maybe more.
Twenty feet. Dead center. Every time. Even in the fading light.
The blade buried itself in the target with a satisfyingthunk.
“You’re walking like you’re about to argue with me,” Zach said.
Emma stopped a few feet behind him. “That obvious?”
“Yes.”
He retrieved the knife, tested the edge with his thumb. Still sharp. The routine was automatic—assess, adjust, repeat. The same way he approached everything.
She moved forward into his peripheral vision. The setting sun caught her hair, making it shine almost blue-black. She’d been crying. He could see it in the slight puffiness of her eyes, the faint tightness around her mouth—like she held something in place by sheer force of will.
Still, she came here to argue with him.
Something tightened in his chest. Something dangerous.
He ignored it.
“I spoke with Kate and Lena,” Emma said.
Zach waited. Silence was a tool: it made people fill the space—reveal more than they intended.
Emma exhaled slowly. “You win.”
The words didn’t sound like surrender.
They sounded like a decision she didn’t like, but accepted anyway.
That was unexpected.
Zach pivoted to face her, studied her expression. “This isn’t a game.”
“I'm aware.” She met his eyes. “I’ll relocate. Whatever protocols you think are necessary.”
The tension in his shoulders eased.
He’d been braced for her to refuse. But she agreed. The relief was immediate—and unwelcome. It hit fast before he could shut it down.
