Emily drove back through the falling snow, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road—
But her mind was somewhere else entirely.
It kept returning to that moment.
The open window.
The pale light behind him.
The instant their eyes had met.
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel.
"I am really stupid," she muttered to herself.
Why had she gone there in weather like this? Why had she stood outside his building, calling and messaging like some fool who still expected something different?
The heater hummed softly inside the car, but it did little to ease the frustration curling in her chest. She was irritated with him, as always. But more than that, she was irritated with herself.
She should have gone straight home.
She should have ignored the open window.
She should have stopped caring.
And yet she hadn't.
At the next red light, her gaze shifted for a moment to the small framed photo fixed near the front of the car.
Her family.
The picture had been taken before everything broke apart. The children were smiling. She was smiling too. Even Luke had been smiling in that one, though now she couldn't look at his face without feeling something twist painfully inside her.
She had thought about removing the photo more than once.
But every time she tried, she stopped.
She didn't know how to explain it to the children.
What would she say?
That their father had left for a better future?
That he had chosen money, status, and ambition over the family that had waited for him at home?
That he had reached for the sky in one step and never looked back at the people below?
Her jaw tightened.
When Luke had first awakened his power, she had truly been happy for him.
She still remembered that day clearly—his shock, his excitement, the strange fear underneath it all. In this world, awakening power meant possibility. It meant a future beyond ordinary limits. Better pay. Better treatment. Better protection. Better chances.
But it also meant danger.
Power users didn't live ordinary lives. The Bureau watched them. Corporations recruited them. Bloodline families measured their value. Once power entered your life, so did risk. There was no such thing as a harmless gift in this city.
Even then, she had been worried.
Not because she doubted him.
As an agent, we had seen too much already. Too many smiling deals hiding chains underneath. Too many corporations offering security with one hand while buying lives with the other. Too many men convinced they had found a shortcut upward, only to discover too late that they had sold away the ground beneath their feet.
When the corporation first approached him with a better offer, she understood why he was tempted.
Better money.
Better safety.
A path upward.
For a man like Luke—ordinary background, no bloodline, no strong backing—that kind of offer was hard to ignore.
They had fought over it.
Again and again.
But even then, it hadn't felt like something that would lead to divorce. They argued, shouted, said things they shouldn't have said, but some part of her still believed they would work through it.
Then the second offer came.
Marriage into a bloodline family.
And after that, he had no hesitation left at all.
It was like watching someone leap from the ground to the sky in a single step—and deciding he no longer needed the people still standing below.
Emily exhaled slowly and forced herself to let the thought go.
No.
There was no point in thinking about it again. Not tonight.
The car finally turned into the apartment complex where she lived. Snow had gathered in soft white layers along the sides of the road, and the lights in the building windows glowed warm against the dark.
By the time she parked, the exhaustion she had been pushing aside all evening settled over her shoulders like a weight.
She sat still for a few seconds before getting out.
The cold bit through her coat the moment she stepped outside. She shut the car door, adjusted her scarf, and made her way toward the building entrance. Her boots made soft crunching sounds in the snow.
When she reached her flat, she stood outside the door for a moment with her hand hovering near it.
She had her key.
She could go in quietly.
But after a brief pause, she pressed the bell instead.
A few seconds later, the door opened.
Her mother stood there.
The resemblance between them was obvious—similar eyes, similar features—but age had hardened the older woman's expression into something firmer, more practical. Emily's mother looked like the kind of woman who had lived long enough to lose patience with foolishness but not enough softness to stop caring.
"Mom," Emily said.
"You're late," her mother replied immediately.
"Oh, I had to take care of something," Emily said.
It was a lie.
She didn't mention that she had gone to see Luke.
She didn't need to. Her family had always been against the marriage. If they knew she had gone to his building in the middle of heavy snow just because his window was open, they would never let her hear the end of it.
Her mother stepped aside, letting her in.
"I have to leave now," she said. "Your father is waiting at home, and I already cooked dinner for you. I also put the kids to sleep early."
"In this weather?" Emily asked. "Why not stay until morning? I can give you a ride then."
"Your father is already angry at me for coming here," her mother said.
Then she looked directly into Emily's eyes.
There was nothing soft in that look now—only blunt, maternal truth.
"You had better not do anything stupid in court tomorrow."
Emily lowered her gaze immediately.
"If they offer money for finalising it, you take it," her mother continued. "Your children's future is more important than your pride. You understand me? You'd better bleed that bastard for all the money you can get."
Emily said nothing for a second.
Then, quietly, "I know."
Her mother let out a long breath.
The anger in her face softened. She reached up and stroked Emily's hair the way she had done when Emily was a child.
"Everything is going to be all right," she said.
That was enough.
All the strain Emily had been holding inside herself cracked at once.
She stepped forward and hugged her mother tightly.
Then she started crying.
Not loudly. Not uncontrollably. Just those quiet, painful tears that came when someone finally touched the wound you had been pretending not to feel.
Her mother held her without saying anything else.
After some time, they separated.
Emily wiped at the corners of her eyes, embarrassed, while her mother adjusted her coat and prepared to leave.
Then, just as she reached the door, her mother stopped.
"I forgot to tell you," she said. "Your father is also going to come to court tomorrow."
Emily stiffened.
A flicker of alarm crossed her face.
"Is that necessary?" she asked. "There will be people from the Bureau…I'll be all right,"
Then she added, with the tired resignation of someone who knew her husband too well, "I can't stop him. Just go with the flow."
Emily closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
Tomorrow was already bad enough. Now her father would be there too.
"Okay," she said at last. "Be careful on the road."
Her mother nodded, stepped out, and left.
Emily stood at the door for a few seconds after it closed, listening to the silence of the apartment.
Then she turned and walked deeper inside.
The flat was dim and warm. The everyday signs of life were scattered everywhere—folded blankets, toys left in corners, a half-finished drawing on the table, and small shoes near the wall—ordinary things.
Precious things.
She made her way to the children's room and opened the door gently.
Both of them were asleep.
They lay curled beneath their blankets, breathing softly, untouched by all the ugliness circling the adults around them. In sleep, they looked younger, smaller, more fragile.
Emily stood at the doorway for a long moment.
Then she stepped inside, knelt beside them, and pulled the blankets up more carefully around their shoulders.
She touched one small head, then the other.
Her throat tightened.
No matter what happened tomorrow, it was for them.
Everything.
Her anger. Her endurance. Her humiliation. Her work. Her restraint.
All of it was for them.
She bent forward and hugged them gently, careful not to wake them.
When she finally stood, there were tears in the corners of her eyes again.
She turned off the last light, left the room quietly, and went to bed.
But even there, sleep did not come easily.
The image returned again and again:
the open window,
the snow falling,
Luke was standing there in silence,
and the look they had shared across the cold night.
Emily closed her eyes.
Tomorrow would come whether she was ready or not.
And with tears still clinging faintly to the corners of her eyes, she finally let the darkness take her.