Emma was breathing fast, her instincts screaming at her to run—but she didn’t move.
The boy was shaking behind her.
The men stopped a few steps away.
“Step aside, Miss Blake,” one of them said coldly. “This is not your war.”
Emma laughed bitterly.
“You crashed a wedding with an armed convoy and think I’m not involved?”
Silence.
Then the boy spoke, voice breaking.
“She’s alive… I saw her yesterday.”
Emma’s heart stopped.
“Where?”
The boy hesitated.
Then whispered:
“Under the city.”
One of the men immediately stepped forward.
“Enough.”
But Emma finally understood.
This wasn’t a missing-person case.
This was something buried.
Protected.
Controlled.
She looked at the boy.
Then at the men.
And made her choice.
Slowly, she took off her heels.
Emma (calm, deadly):
“You picked the wrong wedding to ruin.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
Emma grabbed his hand.
And ran.
Behind them—shouts erupted.
Gunshots fired into the air.
Guests screamed.
Glass shattered.
The convoy lights flooded the vineyard as the chase began.
The boy shouted over the noise:
“If we reach her… they’ll erase us both!”
Emma didn’t slow down.
Because now she knew—
finding Sophia wasn’t the end.
It was the beginning.
