Page 304 of Scarlet Wars
And whatever composure she’d been clinging to finally cracked.
There was pure despair in those beautiful blue eyes of hers, and I knew exactly what she was thinking of.
With a flick of her free hand, the restraints around Stephen and Maurice shattered. Chains snapped back into the walls with a violent clatter, and both men grunted as they stumbled forward, catching themselves at the last second. They rubbed at their wrists, disbelief written all over their faces, as if they couldn’t quite comprehend that Emma had let them go.
“About that whole Caden-dying-in-the-future-crap,” she said quietly, “How certain is all of it?”
Maurice opened his mouth to answer, but Stephen cut across him. “The start of the ripple effect hasn’t taken place yet.”
“Ithas,” Maurice snarled. “The moment she chose Caden over James, this future locked into place.”
“That’s not true,” Stephen shot back. “There’s still time, Emma.Youare the linchpin. Not what you’ve already done, but what you choose next. If you don’t let yourself love him, he still has a chance. Please.”
My jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “Pleading with her to ruin my life in order to save it? Who the fuck asked you to intervene?”
Emma inhaled, shakily. When she spoke, her voice was soft, raw—too raw—but she wouldn’t look at me. “I’m so sorry, Caden. I’m so sorry you had to see that. I can’t even imagine…”
“A memory isn’t truth,” I said, harsher than I intended because panic claws out sharp. “It’s just a perspective. Someone’s interpretation of the facts, not the fact itself.”
Fucking hell.
If Emma even thought for a second, she could choose differently…
If she decided to love me less, or pretend she didn’t love me already, to try and save my life…
Not fucking happening.
“If the price for your life is mine,” she breathed, steady only by force of will, “I will pay it. Every single time.”
Something in me snapped.
I caught her arm—not gently—and yanked her closer until her breath hit my mouth. The pulse under my thumb thrashed. Her eyes were wide, shining, stubborn.
“Don’t,” I growled, low and violent, “fucking quote my own words back at me.”
Her throat bobbed, but she didn’t look away.
Didn’t flinch.
Didn’t soften.
And then—gods—she smiled.
A small, quiet thing, carved out of grief and something so sad it hollowed me out from the inside. A smile that wasn’t victory or defiance, no, it was love. Twisted into something that hurt to look at.
Something that said she’d already made her choice.
Maurice exhaled—long, irritated, resigned—as he took in his daughter’s expression. “Look, I know you’re about to try and reverse what can’t be undone, but there might be another way?—”
He didn’t finish.
Because in the next heartbeat, abladeerupted through his chest.
Not slid.
Not pierced.
Exploded.
