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Chapter One

The body lay in perfect repose on the Victorian fainting couch, looking more like a sleeping beauty than a victim. Detective Sarah Chen had seen enough death in her ten years with the Metropolitan Police's Special Cases Unit to know that natural death never looked this peaceful. Something was very, very wrong.

        'No signs of struggle, no marks on the body, and yet...' She leaned closer, studying the victim's face. Charlotte Mills, aged 28, was found by her roommate this morning, apparently having passed away in her sleep. Her expression was serene, almost blissful, but her eyes - those were what caught Sarah's attention. Behind the closed lids, her eyes were moving rapidly, as if still deep in REM sleep.

        "You see it too, don't you?" The voice came from behind her, rich and cultured with a slight Irish lilt. "She's still dreaming."

        Sarah turned to find a tall man in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit standing in the doorway. He hadn't been there a moment ago, she was certain of it. His dark hair was streaked with silver at the temples, and his eyes were an unusual shade of amber that seemed to shift color in the light.

        "This is a closed crime scene," she said firmly, her hand instinctively moving toward her weapon. "How did you get in here?"

        He smiled, but it didn't reach those strange eyes. "Dr. Marcus Thorne," he said, pulling out a card that somehow both looked official and seemed to shimmer slightly. "I'm a consulting specialist with the Department's new Oneiric Phenomena Division."

        "The what division?" Sarah frowned, taking the card. The moment her fingers touched it, she felt a slight electric tingle, and the letters seemed to rearrange themselves before her eyes.

        "Dreams, Detective Chen. We investigate crimes involving dreams." He moved into the room with fluid grace, his attention fixed on the victim. "And this is the third one this month."

        Sarah's mind raced. There had been two other deaths recently - both young women, both found peacefully dead in their sleep. She'd seen the reports but hadn't made the connection until now. "How do you know about those cases?"

        "Because I've been tracking the killer for quite some time." Thorne knelt beside the body, his eyes now definitely more gold than amber. "He's what we call a Dream Collector - someone who has learned to enter and steal dreams. But this one has developed a taste for more than just dreams. He's taking souls."

        Under normal circumstances, Sarah would have dismissed such talk as nonsense. But there was something about the scene, about the victim's still-moving eyes, about Thorne himself, that made the impossible seem suddenly plausible.

        "If you're tracking him," she said carefully, "why haven't you caught him?"

        Thorne's expression darkened. "Because he only appears in dreams. The physical world is my domain, but his... his is the realm of sleep. To catch him, we need someone who can walk between both worlds." He turned those unsettling eyes on her. "Someone like you."

        "Me?" Sarah almost laughed, but the sound died in her throat as memories she'd long suppressed began to surface. The dreams that felt too real, the nights she'd awakened to find objects moved in her room, the way she sometimes knew things she couldn't possibly know...

        "You've always known you were different, haven't you, Detective?" Thorne's voice was gentle now. "The dreams that come true, the hunches that turn out to be right, the way you can sometimes see how people died just by touching objects they owned..."

        Sarah took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

        "Because I've been looking for someone like you. A Natural - someone born with the ability to cross the threshold between waking and dreaming." He gestured to the victim. "Charlotte here won't be his last. There will be others, and their souls will remain trapped in an eternal dream unless we stop him."

        Just then, the victim's hand twitched, her fingers moving as if writing something. Sarah moved closer, watching as invisible words were traced in the air. Thorne pulled out what looked like an antique monocle and held it up. Through its lens, golden letters shimmered in the air where Charlotte's fingers moved.

        "Help me," Thorne read aloud. "He's coming for the others."

        Sarah felt a chill run down her spine. She looked at the victim's peaceful face, at those restlessly moving eyes, and made a decision that would change her life forever.

        "Tell me what I need to do."

        Thorne's smile was grim. "First, you need to learn to control your abilities. Then..." he held up the monocle, through which Sarah could now see strange symbols glowing all around the room, "you need to learn to hunt in dreams."

        Outside the Victorian townhouse, storm clouds gathered, and Sarah Chen, homicide detective and newly discovered dream walker, took her first step into a world where nightmares were real, and death was just another kind of sleep.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Two

The basement of the Natural History Museum was the last place Sarah expected to find the headquarters of a secret dream investigation unit. Yet here she was, following Thorne through a maze of storage rooms filled with artifacts that seemed to pulse with their own inner light.

        "The mundane world only sees what it expects to see," Thorne explained, using an ornate key to unlock a heavy wooden door marked 'Private Collection.' "To them, this is just museum storage. To us, it's the largest collection of dream artifacts in the Western Hemisphere."

        The room beyond defied physics. It stretched impossibly far, filled with glass cases containing everything from ancient masks to modern-looking devices. Floating orbs of soft light illuminated collections of bottled dreams - actual dreams, swirling like liquid mercury behind glass.

        "Your badge, Detective," Thorne held out his hand. Sarah hesitated before handing over her police credentials. He placed it on a strange device that looked like a Victorian music box crossed with a computer. When he returned the badge, it felt different - heavier, somehow more real.

        "Now you'll be able to access both worlds officially," he said. "Look at it again."

        The badge had changed. Alongside her regular police credentials, new text had appeared: 'Special Inspector, Oneiric Investigations Division.' The letters seemed to shift between English and something older, something that made her eyes water if she looked too long.

        "Before we can hunt the Dream Collector, you need to understand what you're dealing with." Thorne led her to a case containing what looked like a normal pillow. "Touch it."

        Sarah reached out hesitantly. The moment her fingers made contact, the world tilted. She was suddenly standing in someone else's dream - a sunny beach, but the sky was green and the sand whispered secrets. She jerked her hand back, gasping.

        "Good," Thorne nodded approvingly. "Most people can't pull back from their first dream artifact. You have natural barriers."

        "What was that?" Sarah's heart was racing.

        "A dream fragment from 1892. A young girl's last dream before the influenza took her." His voice softened. "We preserve them here. Dreams carry memories, emotions, sometimes even pieces of souls."

        "And this Dream Collector... he takes entire souls?" Sarah remembered Charlotte Mills' peaceful face and restless eyes.

        "He traps them in eternal dreams, feeding off their essence." Thorne moved to another case, this one containing what looked like a cracked mirror. "Each victim becomes part of his collection, their souls powering his abilities, letting him dreamwalk without natural talent like yours."

        Suddenly, the cracked mirror began to frost over. In its surface, Sarah saw Charlotte Mills' face, mouth open in a silent scream. Then another face appeared - another victim, she presumed - and another.

        "He's showing off," Thorne growled. "He knows we're investigating."

        The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. Frost patterns spread from the mirror to nearby cases, and Sarah heard what sounded like distant laughter.

        "Well, well," a voice echoed through the room, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere. "A new player in the game. And such interesting dreams you have, Detective Chen."

        Sarah felt something brush against her mind, like cold fingers trying to pry open a door. Instinctively, she slammed her mental barriers shut. The presence withdrew, but not before leaving behind an impression of amusement.

        "He's already caught your scent," Thorne said grimly. He pulled out a small velvet bag and removed what looked like a dreamcatcher made of silver wire and black pearls. "Wear this when you sleep. It won't keep him out entirely, but it'll stop him from stealing your dreams while you're still learning to defend yourself."

        As Sarah took the dreamcatcher, her fingers brushed Thorne's, and suddenly she was hit with a flash of his dreams - centuries of memories, battles fought in realms of sleep, and a profound sense of loss that made her gasp.

        Thorne withdrew his hand quickly. "Your abilities are stronger than I thought. We'll need to work on your control."

        "What are you?" Sarah asked directly. "You're not just some government consultant, are you?"

        Before he could answer, an alarm began to sound throughout the facility. One of the dream bottles had turned black, its contents writhing like smoke.

        "He's hunting again," Thorne said, already moving toward the exit. "Someone in the city has just entered their last dream. Are you ready for your first real case, Detective?"

        Sarah touched her new badge, feeling its power hum under her fingers. "Do we have time to save them?"

        "If we're lucky, we might catch him in the act. But remember - in dreams, he's incredibly powerful. One wrong move and you could lose your soul."

        As they rushed from the dream archive, Sarah caught one last glimpse of the cracked mirror. In its surface, she saw her own reflection smile back at her with eyes that weren't quite her own.

        The hunt was about to begin.

Chapter Three

They arrived at St. Bartholomew's Hospital just as the emergency lights began to flash. Sarah followed Thorne through corridors that seemed to blur at the edges of her vision, her new badge somehow clearing their path without ever being shown.

        "Room 307," Thorne said, his voice tight with urgency. "Young male, admitted for minor surgery, slipped into an unusual coma during recovery."

        The patient, David Parker, age 23, lay perfectly still on his hospital bed, his eyes moving rapidly beneath closed lids. Just like Charlotte Mills. But this time, something was different - the air around him rippled like heat waves over hot asphalt.

        "He's still in the process of taking him," Thorne said, pulling out what looked like an antique pocket watch. "We can follow if we're quick. Are you ready for your first dream dive?"

        Sarah's heart pounded. "What do I need to do?"

        "Take my hand. Focus on the patient. Let your consciousness slip between the moments of reality." Thorne's eyes began to glow that strange amber color. "And whatever you see in there, remember - dream logic is real logic in that world."

        Sarah grasped Thorne's hand and looked at David Parker. The world tilted, twisted, and suddenly...

        They were standing in a hospital corridor that wasn't quite right. The walls breathed slowly, the floor was made of flowing water that somehow supported their weight, and the ceiling was a swirling mass of constellation maps.

        "His dreamscape," Thorne explained, his voice echoing strangely. "Every dreamer creates their own reality. Look."

        Down the impossible corridor, a figure in a doctor's coat was leading David Parker by the hand. But the 'doctor' was wrong - his shadow moved independently, reaching out with grasping tendrils towards other dreams that floated past like soap bubbles.

        "The Dream Collector," Sarah whispered.

        As if hearing his name, the figure turned. Sarah's breath caught. His face was a beautiful mask of shifting features, never settling on one form, but his eyes... his eyes were endless pits of swirling dreams.

        "Ah, the new dreamer," his voice was like silk over broken glass. "And my old friend Marcus. Still trying to police the dream worlds?"

        Thorne stepped forward, and Sarah noticed his appearance had changed in the dream. His suit was now made of living shadows, and wings of dark light stretched from his shoulders. "Let him go, Collector. You've taken enough souls."

        The Collector laughed, the sound causing the hospital walls to crack, leaking golden dream-light. "Taken? Oh, Marcus, you still don't understand. They give themselves to me. Show her, David."

        The young man turned, and Sarah saw his eyes were glassy with bliss. "It's beautiful here," he said dreamily. "All my pain is gone. All my fears. He takes them all away."

        "By taking everything you are," Sarah found herself saying. She took a step forward, instinctively reaching for her police badge. In the dream, it transformed into a shield of pure light. "David, this isn't real healing. It's theft."

        The Collector's face rippled with anger. "You dare interrupt my collection?" The corridor began to twist, reality bending around them. "Let me show you what happens to those who interfere with my work."

        Suddenly, the floor beneath Sarah liquefied completely. She started to sink, but instead of water, she was drowning in dreams - thousands of them, each containing a fragment of someone's stolen soul. She saw Charlotte Mills dancing endlessly in a ballroom of mirrors, saw other victims trapped in perfect moments that had become eternal prisons.

        "Sarah!" Thorne's voice cut through the chaos. "Remember - dream logic! Make your own rules!"

        Dream logic. Sarah closed her eyes, focusing on her years of police work, of protecting people, of solving puzzles. When she opened them, her badge-shield had transformed into a sword of pure thought.

        With a cry, she slashed through the dream-flood. Reality reasserted itself - or at least, this dream's version of reality. She stood on solid ground again, facing the Collector.

        "Impressive," he purred, but she sensed uncertainty in his voice. "You're stronger than the usual dreamers Marcus recruits. Perhaps we could make a deal..."

        "No deals," Sarah said firmly. She could feel her power growing, reshaping the dream around them. "David, look at what he really is. Look with your heart, not your fears."

        For a moment, David's eyes cleared. The Collector's beautiful mask slipped, revealing something ancient and hungry beneath. David screamed, pulling away from the creature's grasp.

        The Collector snarled, his form shifting into something monstrous. "If I can't have him willingly..." Shadows exploded from his body, reaching for David.

        What happened next seemed to unfold in slow motion. Thorne spread his dark wings, shielding David. Sarah's sword of thought became a net of light, trapping some of the shadows. But the Collector himself simply... stepped sideways, vanishing into a door that appeared in the air.

        "Sweet dreams, detectives," his voice lingered behind. "We'll meet again soon. After all, Sarah, your dreams are particularly... appetizing."

        The dreamscape began to dissolve. Sarah felt Thorne grab her arm, pulling her back through layers of reality. Then...

        They were standing in the hospital room again. David Parker was awake, gasping, but alive and whole. A nurse was rushing in, responding to his sudden revival.

        "We saved one," Thorne said quietly. "But he'll be angry now. And he'll come for you."

        Sarah touched her badge, still feeling echoes of its dream-power. "Good," she said grimly. "Because I have some questions for him about Charlotte Mills. And about what you really are, Marcus Thorne."

        Thorne's expression was unreadable. "All in time, Detective. For now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, your real training begins."

        As they left the hospital, Sarah could have sworn she saw her shadow move independently, reaching for dreams that floated just beyond the edge of sight. The world would never look quite the same again.

Chapter Four

Sarah's apartment looked different when she returned that night. The shadows seemed deeper, more alive, and ordinary objects cast reflections that didn't quite match reality. The dreamcatcher Thorne had given her pulsed softly in her pocket, responding to the changed way she now saw the world.

        She was exhausted but afraid to sleep. The Collector's words echoed in her mind: 'Your dreams are particularly appetizing.' Instead, she spread her case files across the coffee table - photographs of Charlotte Mills, the other victims, and now David Parker's medical records.

        A soft chime from her badge interrupted her concentration. The metal had grown warm, and when she touched it, words appeared in that strange shifting script: 'Archive. Now. Emergency.'

        The museum was different at night. Sarah's new badge led her through doors that hadn't existed during her first visit, down stairs that seemed to descend far deeper than the building's foundation should allow. She found Thorne in a circular room she hadn't seen before, surrounded by floating screens of light that showed various dreamscapes.

        "We have a problem," he said without preamble. "The Collector's attack pattern has changed. Look."

        The screens shifted, showing a map of the city overlaid with points of light. "Each light is a dreamer," Thorne explained. "The blue ones are normal dreams. The red..." He gestured, and several dots pulsed an angry crimson. "Those are nightmares being actively shaped by outside forces."

        "He's attacking multiple targets at once?"

        "No." Thorne's expression was grim. "He's leaving traps. Dream-snares. Anyone who falls asleep in these areas risks being pulled into a constructed nightmare. He's trying to overwhelm our ability to respond."

        Sarah studied the pattern of red dots. "They're forming a shape... a symbol?"

        "A summoning circle." A new voice joined them. Sarah turned to see an elderly woman emerging from what appeared to be a door made of starlight. Her eyes were milk-white, but she moved with absolute certainty.

        "Sarah, meet Dr. Eleanor Price, the Archive's keeper," Thorne said. "And yes, she's blind in the waking world, but in dreams..."

        "I see everything," Eleanor finished. Her unseeing eyes fixed on Sarah with uncomfortable accuracy. "Including what our friend the Collector is truly planning. He's not just taking souls anymore. He's building toward something larger."

        She gestured, and the room transformed around them. They were suddenly standing in what looked like a vast library, but the books were made of dreams, their pages flowing like liquid memory.

        "Every dream ever archived is stored here," Eleanor explained. "Including the oldest nightmares of humanity. The Collector isn't just a thief - he's trying to wake something that should stay sleeping. Something we locked away centuries ago."

        She pulled a book from the shelf, and its pages burst open, projecting a scene of ancient horror - a time when the boundary between dreams and reality was thinner, when nightmares could walk in daylight.

        "The Last Nightmare," Thorne said softly. "We thought it was safely contained, but if he completes that summoning circle..."

        A sudden tremor ran through the Archive. One of the red dots on the map had grown larger, pulsing violently.

        "He's starting," Eleanor's voice was urgent. "Sarah, you need to see something before you face this." She pressed her fingers to Sarah's forehead, and suddenly...

        She was in a memory. A younger Thorne stood with a woman who looked remarkably like Sarah herself, facing down a shadow that threatened to devour the world. The woman - another dream detective? - sacrificed herself to help seal away the nightmare.

        "Your mother," Eleanor's voice echoed in her mind. "She was one of us. Her sacrifice helped lock away the Last Nightmare, but the Collector has never stopped trying to free it. And now he's found you - her daughter, with her power."

        The vision ended abruptly as another tremor shook the Archive. More red dots were pulsing on the map.

        "Why didn't you tell me?" Sarah demanded, turning to Thorne.

        "Because I promised her I'd keep you away from this life," he replied, pain evident in his voice. "But now the Collector knows who you are, and we're running out of time."

        "The summoning circle will be complete at the next new moon," Eleanor added. "Three days from now. If the Last Nightmare wakes..."

        "Then we stop him before that happens," Sarah said firmly, though her mind was reeling from the revelations. "How do we break these dream-snares?"

        "It's dangerous," Thorne warned. "Each one is a trap designed specifically for dream walkers. If you're caught..."

        "Then you'll just have to watch my back," Sarah said. She touched her badge, feeling its power respond. "Where do we start?"

        Eleanor smiled, her blind eyes somehow twinkling. "First, you need to understand what you truly inherited from your mother. It's time you learned about the true history of the dream walkers - and why the Collector fears your bloodline above all others."

        As if in response to Eleanor's words, the books around them began to glow, their pages rustling with the weight of secrets about to be revealed. In the map above, the red dots pulsed like a countdown to catastrophe, and Sarah realized she had less than three days to master powers she never knew she had.

        The true game was about to begin.

Città B.
Quando uscì dall'Ufficio degli Affari Civili, la grande mano di Liam non la lasciò mai, ed Emma guardò la foto di loro due sulla licenza di matrimonio e sentì ancora che tutto era irreale, come se stesse sognando.
Più ci pensava, più si sentiva a disagio: "Liam, non è che ti sei sposato per la seconda volta? O hai qualche malattia nascosta?". In cuor suo pensava che, con l'incredibile valore del suo viso, dovevano esserci molte donne che lo inseguivano.
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Liam smise di camminare e strinse leggermente le labbra: "È un po' tardi per pensare a queste domande, no? Il tuo nome è già nella colonna dei miei coniugi, vuoi essere una donna in seconde nozze?".
Per Emma era la prima volta che sperimentava una tale incredulità, il suo corpo si tese, la sua mente era nel caos, completamente incapace di pensare. Quando sentì la risposta di Liam, le sembrò di trattenere a stento il respiro.
L'impulso è il diavolo, oggi non sapeva davvero cosa le passasse per la testa, sorprendentemente sposata con meno di un giorno di conoscenza di quell'uomo!
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Il viso di Emma si arrossò bruscamente: quest'uomo era riuscito a flirtare in modo serio!
Aspettate un attimo. "Come mi hai appena chiamato?". Le sembrò di sentirlo chiamare la moglie di Liam.
"Moglie di Liam, certo, ti ho chiamato così?". Gli angoli della sua bocca si sollevarono in un sorriso.
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"Dammi il tuo cellulare". Liam parlò.
Emma capì la sua intenzione e gli porse direttamente il cellulare, solo per vedere le sue dita lunghe e sottili sul cellulare per inserire rapidamente il suo numero di telefono e poi usare il cellulare per fare una chiamata a se stesso.
"Ho ancora un affare da discutere stasera, gli ultimi due o tre giorni saranno piuttosto impegnativi, quando avrò finito verrò a prenderti, a proposito, fai una visita alla tua famiglia e parla dei nostri affari". Non aveva un tono di negoziazione.
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"Vivo con zia Rachel e zio Eric, loro sono la mia famiglia, nessun'altra famiglia". Emma sussurrò.
Liam non fece domande, si limitò a rispondere: "Ah-ah".
Emma era inspiegabilmente sollevata, non sapeva come avrebbe spiegato il passato alla sua famiglia. Aveva voluto tornare da sola, temendo che zia Rachel e zio Eric lo scoprissero.
TugttaNviaI,z wLRiTam iMnsCistHet&tue Qper KrimfanDdarHlag ind.ifeltnrPo,B TlYe, sHue wparRo*l)e Neranxo FgCiudsttiAficóazte: "qOr*a seki $sp(osaktac, Osge! ltMi lsaóscioZ tornarse d_ah solKa a& btaYrd$a YnoPtjtDe,' coLsa pCernOsóerfawnBnAo Kglji Za,l&tZri! kdPi mxe JcoRmes HmariytoQ?!".)
Emma rimase senza parole di fronte alla sua logica, incapace di trovare un motivo per rifiutare. Quest'uomo, che coglieva sempre il punto in poche parole, rendendola incapace di ribattere, Emma pensò tra sé e sé: in futuro sarà controllata da lui fino alla morte?
L'auto arrivò fino a un vecchio quartiere sulla terza circonvallazione, Liam guardò il profondo vicolo e le sue sopracciglia non poterono fare a meno di aggrottare le sopracciglia: "Cammini da sola di notte in un posto del genere?".
Emma prese la borsa in mano: "Non esattamente, se lavoro fino a tardi, lo zio Eric o il cugino Blake verranno a prendermi".

Ma da quando il cugino Blake si è innamorato, Emma Moss ha cercato di non disturbarlo. Da tempo è abituata a cavarsela da sola e non vuole creargli problemi.
"Non è sicuro per una ragazza camminare di notte", disse Liam Birch con serietà, "Beh, ti aspetterò qui e me ne andrò quando sarai al sicuro a casa".
Il cuore di Emma si scaldò, annuì e dopo qualche passo non poté fare a meno di voltarsi per ricordare a Liam: "Fammi sapere in anticipo quando verrai a prendermi, dovremo parlarne".
Lviam haggóroYtt_òj le msoXp(rKaccjigIl_ibaA .imSpjotenjte$: "L!og ys^oÉ, tFic se!mpbqroi davVvcerSoC cioÉsì ^inalfNfidalbilce?".
Emma non rispose alla sua domanda retorica, si limitò a sollevare leggermente gli angoli della bocca e a voltarsi verso la casa. Sapeva che dietro di lei c'era qualcuno che l'aveva osservata e questa volta non ebbe paura, anzi avanzò con determinazione.
Sembrava che da quel momento in poi qualcosa fosse silenziosamente cambiato.
Liam salì sul taxi solo quando Emma fu al sicuro a casa. Il suo volto era di nuovo freddo come sempre e la luce fioca che di tanto in tanto brillava sul suo viso offuscava le sue emozioni del momento.
Per ltCutwtaf $lta hndotteC NE)mtmaZ siu rigirò nel& lOettoé,& QpmenIsaKn.dmo( alBla_ cQoDllan(a$ diM jruubiQnDi ^nleglu su!op casVseltLtko ey a$lf Wbtel LvisoI di SLViam.
Doveva ammettere di essere un po' una lettrice di volti, e quello di Liam la faceva rimanere a bocca aperta.
Se un uomo dall'aspetto strano le avesse chiesto di sposarlo, non avrebbe esitato a prenderlo a schiaffi.
Sapeva poco di Liam. I suoi genitori erano vivi, lui aveva un nonno, dirigeva una piccola azienda nella città A e viveva in un appartamento di 90 metri quadri con due camere da letto, che non era il massimo, ma non era nemmeno male.
TMutMtavcica,L l&usi mè, de.lylaÉ mc)ittà lA eX phaNnGn(o gxibàt Cr(icMevutIo. Zuna vlOicenzkav, xnéon kc'è a(lOcunaJ PbaZspe emotihvwa_,y è impo&sSsibil.e rspMoKsIaSrPsQix pe rpoiR vi!vge'rce IsRe,paGraati.
Liam era un piccolo imprenditore e, considerando i pro e i contro di un'azienda e di un lavoro, non c'era modo di permettere a Liam di restare con lei nella città B. L'unica possibilità era che lei si licenziasse. L'unica possibilità era che lei lasciasse il suo lavoro alla City B e accettasse un lavoro lì. L'unica possibilità è che lei lasci il lavoro nella città B e torni nella città A con lui.
Tuttavia, la città A è il luogo in cui è cresciuta e da cui è dovuta scappare, e non è sicura che tornare indietro sia davvero una buona opzione.
Emma si scosse di nuovo la testa per il fastidio: era sempre stata molto razionale nel suo approccio alle cose, ma in questo caso era stata troppo precipitosa e non aveva riflettuto bene.
IlR g.isorunko dVospfon.
Emma uscì dalla sua stanza con un paio di occhi da panda, zia Rachel aveva già messo la colazione in tavola e i suoi occhi erano pieni di dolore quando la vide così. "Nuan, perché le tue occhiaie sono così pesanti, è perché hai fatto di nuovo gli straordinari ieri sera?".
Emma non sapeva come dire a zia Rachele che aveva preso la patente con uno sconosciuto, si grattò solo la testa e cambiò argomento: "No, è che non ho riposato bene".
Zia Rachel le diede una pacca sulla spalla e sospirò: "Bambina mia, perché ti impegni sempre così tanto? Quale ragazza della tua età non si veste bene, non esce la sera con il fidanzato, non si gode la vita? Tu, invece, dedichi tutte le tue notti al lavoro. Non so davvero cosa dire di te, il lavoro è infinito, ma il tuo corpo è tuo, e se lo rompi?".

Emma Moss tirò fuori la lingua, amando l'assillo, era materno: "Zia Rachel, mi piace come stanno andando le cose, le giornate sono piene. E poi mia nipote è bella anche senza doversi vestire".
"È vero, sei proprio come le vecchie Rachel, hai un talento naturale. È solo che se tua madre ci fosse ancora, non vorrebbe che tu vivessi così". Sul volto di Rachel apparve un'espressione di dolore.
Sua sorella era stata così forte per tutta la vita, ma era finita in una situazione tragica, con il tradimento e il suicidio del marito.
AnchkeM il WsÉorxrisso ^sruló IvolGto )dir PEm&ma ssi ibIlorcccò, flso *zioó E$rBi&c (usKcìR dvahlCla IcuYcGibna,q PilV 'gérem(biule msJuUln s&uéo cXorpo n'onD zera XabnAcVorQa sstcatoy tYolOtAoQ:q "Tu,S Éqfure^sUtba MmQoZgmlÉieO, qvivi davkvOe$ro Tsemwp*rUe pihù pindfiMeRtbro,S Kmexnqziéon^atnzdo wseumpre TquneclLle FcosjeQ dKelq YpLaYsSsSatGo 'pe)r* _cIoJsdaj,x óleR VperysXone_ dbevfonoM .viverieN nzeklC JpXresBe&ntDex,^ 't*u haCib vsissXut$o peBr lag mAagégJiaorJ plarKtqe $dellaZ ktXuQaV DvdiCtQa,y comen pWuoil anotn$ leUssyeXrJe* in gra&dqoJ di gestkiCrlo. SiI qst.aV faceNnydo! mtardLi,r p.exrché Rnbony tti sbrBigHhxiD aa Kvekrs!ajre a Emm&ab uuSnK pqoA'F diN nlZaWtt&e SdwiI soKia,É Us*e' NJuOaAn fVal tpa&rdói a.lR glMavDoro. he CvienMe rwiYmprovetratah dnanlS cakpKol DdÉelv dipafrtpi^mLecntZoc,f Kpauioi prlenXdpertQi lay !coclpa ap_err élOei?".m
Rachel lanciò un'occhiata al marito: "Ok, sei assillante di prima mattina, più invecchi e più sei assillante, mi stai infastidendo a morte".
Emma guardò zio Eric e zia Rachel con invidia, pregustando questo tipo di vita coniugale semplice, due persone che mantengono sempre l'intenzione originaria dell'unione, mano nella mano fino alla vecchiaia, non è una sorta di grande felicità alla Moss.
Emma si sfregò la fronte, prese il latte di soia che le porgeva zia Rachel e le rivolse un sorriso: "Zia Rachel, sei contenta, per amore dello zio Eric che ha cucinato per te per più di metà della sua vita".
"È 'l'PunpiZcqaK cQosay SchNe( vsa_ AfkaÉrIe".
Lo zio Eric e Rachel insegnavano nella stessa scuola ed entrambi facevano i pendolari per andare al lavoro più o meno alla stessa ora, ma lo zio Eric si occupava di tutte le faccende domestiche e ogni volta che Rachel andava in cucina, lo zio Eric la faceva saltare fuori, tanto che le capacità culinarie di Rachel erano ancora scarse nonostante la tarda adolescenza. La coppia ha fatto molta strada, con pochi alti e bassi, e il loro rapporto è rimasto immutato per decenni.
"È vero, è sempre mia nipote che è così dolce, alcune persone sono proprio così, dove posso trovare un marito filiale come me?". Lo zio Eric era d'accordo con Emma, tirò fuori la sedia e si sedette a fare colazione, ma non dimenticò di spingere la colazione preparata davanti a Rachel.
Rachel batté la testa di Emma: "Ragazza mia, sono tua zia".
EpmmPaI ydFihe(dFe Tun Zmogrsop avlKl*aB ÉsuWa NféoRcMaHccias ,abl ,vda)pao!rey:C "So'no QdLalqlDaG pYarKte! deNlIlra* qveriktà"u.
"Il tuo cuore di ragazza è prevenuto, pensi che io non lo sappia, visto che ti piace così tanto un uomo che sa cucinare, controllerò personalmente tuo marito in futuro, se non saprà cucinare, sarà eliminato direttamente".
"Sì, un buon marito non lascerà che la moglie stia in cucina tutti i giorni e si trasformi in una faccia gialla, Emma, devi trovare un uomo che sappia cucinare". Su questo punto, Rachel e lo zio Eric erano sorprendentemente d'accordo.
La mano di Emma tremò, i ravioli al vapore quasi caddero sul pavimento, associati a Liam Birch, come poteva quell'uomo cucinare, l'angolo della bocca tirò rigidamente fuori un arco, ridendo seccamente: "Al giorno d'oggi, non dovrebbero esserci molti uomini che sanno cucinare".
Rabch^eUl l^amnzc_iòu uIn'WocTchCiaTta a Em.mac, u&n bPel _pov'J diV odigok prer l'naccxiaYi*o FroPttoM, "hai_ yuhn poy' ydgi !anmybóiznigoneW xock, apriF glXiY o$cQcfh!i, rperk tDrSovUaór)e AahS,L idn GoIgsnIi ctaBs(oS, s!ol,o noJny pMuòy tro.vaGrNe cva!sOubalFmCe(nte Xun&, nqquMestyoq èl legiayt^oq a tuMtHtMa. Mla Rtuag nv,it)aV delmlaq fvRitTa ,g'randHe Ue$vcenztCo.* ZiVa wRache$lV non ghZa aqéu)el Zt'i*po Ddqiw crocnXcettco* édRit ÉesyortaziloOne a& _sGposba*rsin, deNvMeu UsPtQa.bidlirel ZchCeG zcci_ ssi ndieveK sapéosxaÉre La_ ch(eQ Éetà$, Mnon ti meQsLortos, )nboDn vAobg,lwio mietctvegrtvi. fZrYextta,Z mla seó ItroZvi quemllaW jgfiusytar,. CdovóreJstRi *gVuakrd*a&r)tJi. intyoHrkn_o. OAndcNhe Rs'e' dnoVn! si può vQeWdJere alau BnaLtRucra Édóewlalp'uojmBoP,G smaW *è meLglio' deWl tMipo ddi mMatVrKiXmxoniRo Ullamdpo".

"Al giorno d'oggi, la popolarità del matrimonio lampo, ma dopo questo matrimonio lampo è un divorzio lampo, il divorzio è semplice come l'acquisto di cibo, non c'è da stupirsi che ci sono rappresentanti della Conferenza consultiva politica del popolo cinese ha proposto che le coppie nel bambino prima di una certa età non deve essere divorziato, è completamente costretto da questo clima sociale. Gli uomini sono facili, la pacca sul sedere può andare, purché la capacità di trovare un nuovo amore bello in qualsiasi momento. Alla fine, spesso è la donna a essere ferita. Le donne hanno figli, il vero impatto è per la vita. Emma, non prendertela con la zia Rachel che ti assilla, devi stare attenta a questo genere di cose".
Emma Moss ascoltava e si sentiva sempre più a disagio, pensando tra sé e sé: se zia Rachel avesse saputo che aveva già sposato un uomo, si sarebbe arrabbiata così tanto da svenire?
"Zia Rachel, è meglio prendere le cose come vengono".
"Anlcxhe ^zfina R*acBhel l,o cawpisóce, coTmuLnq,uLe iJob le (lo ziWol LErziqcH ^cmiy PsptiHaumor boicpcup)anydo gdi te, _non socnpo pzaJrLtCic'olXarNmmeSnt.e pzrGeWoccupaat!o,Z dreGvói *sóoljo non .esse.r)e cpasual^e"O.
"Il temperamento di Emma lo conosci anche tu, è sempre stata molto misurata nel fare le cose, come potrebbe sbagliare, puoi davvero stare tranquilla". Disse lo zio Eric.
Emma sentiva l'aria intorno a sé opaca, quasi non riuscisse a respirare, mangiò la colazione il più in fretta possibile e voleva uscire di casa, del suo matrimonio con Liam Birch, sempre più difficile parlare. Mentre chiudeva la porta, sentì le voci della zia Rachel e dello zio Eric.
"Il ragazzo, che corre così veloce, è perché pensa che io sia assillante?".
"LSwe*if un Opo'é assmilluanrtyeV".
Prima che Emma raggiungesse la fermata dell'autobus, vide che la linea 12 era già parcheggiata, quindi non poté far altro che correre verso di essa. Poiché era la prima fermata, c'erano ancora posti liberi sull'autobus, così si sedette in fondo.
Non appena si sedette, squillò il cellulare che teneva in borsa e le parole "Liam Birch" lampeggiarono sullo schermo, facendole battere forte il cuore e facendole perdere immediatamente le parole. Se non fosse stato per l'agenda rossa nel cassetto, avrebbe semplicemente pensato di stare sognando: un giorno fa era single, non si era resa conto che in un batter d'occhio era diventata una donna sposata, e l'altra parte era ancora un uomo che aveva incontrato una sola volta.
A quest'ora del mattino, si chiedeva che cosa le stesse chiamando.
EmfmDa &svi è HdiSbatrtkut'ac .nzehl)la sTuaÉ NmenDte e,ó quandhoz Zil te,lAe&fono sftavOay Hp.erC SriaDggaónFcipare, What prr_efmiutoX Qinln gpunlsanótYem Jdi condnexsmsiiomne. uNuon, sBaHpefn.do coDmef iRniziavre tlja wcLonverFsPavzSione,a diCssbe, comeJ fadnnHo glÉi skcoQndoÉscVikuMtzid:i F"Pérkonkto, sonDo lEvm'mxa MIoss".Q
"Non c'è bisogno di presentarsi, so che la signora Birch è lei". Arrivò la voce bassa e leggermente stuzzicante dell'uomo, Emma arrossì leggermente e chiese titubante: "Cosa vuole da me?".
"Scambiare sentimenti con la signora Birch, naturalmente, per dichiarare la sua sovranità, per non dimenticare che è sposata ed esitare prima di rispondere al telefono".
Emma si bloccò, non rendendosi conto che quell'uomo era così perspicace. "Beh, per favore, fatemi sapere in anticipo quando verrete, non venite direttamente alla porta, è meglio se potete tornare con me". Era impegnata a divagare.
"Visto cthe ÉlLas _sGijgmnora _Bir'ch Ose_nt.eA cóohsìP .tDa!nBtoP Tlfat miLaN madnc,aUnóza,,j orlgIadnizzeròb simc^ura(menteA il miXo lavOoroj Uil$ prUimfa po*sSsiibiLle Ne. dve*rGrDòH a p)rernd*eBrti( ia& &casaé pArPima".
La conversazione era così confusa che temeva che lui entrasse di soppiatto e la spaventasse. In base a quanto aveva detto zia Rachel questa mattina, era chiaro che zia Rachel era molto contraria all'idea di sposarsi, quindi sembrava che l'incontro con i genitori fosse qualcosa che si sarebbe dovuto risolvere con il tempo.
Ma quest'uomo sembrava diverso da quello che aveva visto ieri sera. Ieri sera era un elegante gentiluomo dalla personalità fredda, mentre ora era rilassato e civettuolo.
I due continuarono a chiacchierare e prima di rendersene conto avevano parlato per quasi mezz'ora, e solo quando lei entrò nell'Agenzia terminarono la telefonata.

L'inizio dell'anno è di solito il periodo più impegnativo per l'Agenzia, in cui si concentra un gran numero di revisioni contabili di società quotate in borsa. Emma Moss faceva gli straordinari quasi ogni giorno e, prima di rendersene conto, era passata una settimana e, a parte quella mattina, Emma non aveva più ricevuto una telefonata da Liam Birch.
Quando tutto fu finito, erano quasi le dieci e i colleghi stavano raccogliendo le loro cose per uscire dal lavoro. "Emma, hai finito?" Chiese un collega.
"Sì, subito". Emma chiuse il computer ed entrò in ascensore con la signora Smith.
"ZAK mpryoópUosito(,T EémmDa, Knon_ pstavi. XgJuardzaqnTdo TdelIl!ed lcasJe lF'xalhtJrÉo gOicoIranoh? Ho uHn _pnarenjte YchIeK blavorLa YpeCrW 'la RIe&aAl EIsxtwate MCYorlpk.K e &snttanxnot fIancenVdo uwnaW vendTiKtLaf dWi recegnrte,. ha alvcuSn&eg )prXoparhióeÉt_àv tchel ÉpuòG xoCttenMere ha XunnK pRréewzzgo! pi)ntGeJrGnYoC, xsorno $n.ezlR )cZenutrno édeDllóaR aci.tctuàw, viQcvino gaClRla metréoApro'lPitóaAna,L ómoAl.to Dciom_oKdKeK pecrC i XpeInYdolari$,Z DeY Uil( pCredzzoW myeid,ioQ è ap*pveCnyak scsesoa ,s*oCtto iI 40.000s bdroOl_lYar&i. Set MsieSte iqnterQes_sawti, pBoss(o JcoKnLt!aDtctvairlyo e chifednerrglri dii NsÉceglXiJerne MunBa cbauona p_er voai"J.
Emma sorrise debolmente: "Grazie, signora Smith, mia zia non si sente a suo agio se vivo da sola fuori, l'acquisto di una casa potrebbe essere rimandato un po'".
"Non c'è problema, non è sicuro per una ragazza vivere da sola, fammi sapere quando ne hai bisogno, chiederò in giro per te. Siamo colleghi da molti anni, non sia cortese".
"Va bene."
ECmAmak Gr^a(gsgisunqsPek _l''Qu^ltiLmPa co,rsma adetlsl'NaTuitobuKsJ z12, s(cZese dxalBlr'autVobusH Ze! si TincIamwmWin)ò! LverCsKo yleM pqrXofFoóndKiYtàa di Ndarrow bAmllweyj,$ solo dzoPppoé poMcghiA upaPsusi ksentì ch^eO qfualQcodsa non aXn(duavóa,h sdeÉmfbArava QcheC bqPualcju&not l(aM stetssNe gseguKe'nSd_oy,c xtutQto il tsJuoR choGrpo KsViQ tUesfe OalDlé'ci_stainteN ne accterlerò i^l &pUa&scsoa.l
Il rumore dei passi dietro di lei non si fermò, anzi, più si avvicinavano e più si avvicinavano, la mano di Emma si infilò silenziosamente nella borsa.
All'improvviso le fu battuto sulla spalla, Emma estrasse immediatamente il suo bastone stordente e lo estrasse, aprendo allo stesso tempo lo spray al peperoncino e premendolo rapidamente.
"Emma, fermati!"
L^a voce. FfJamilirarei mha cnKonk jfsavmXirliaXréel $feceq t)r$aGsal$iyrjeV óE!mmsaH,) Oche _avcpcKe'se uluaB ctPoXr&cbiXah dpecl SmangZanello em gMuarIdò lungo xl'alonnIe xdi ludceS:m *cJ'Xe&rZab uJnF bezl iviJséoA cyhe la guXaÉrudav&ab )senzWau esIpr,essiio(nXej.
Chi poteva essere se non il suo nuovo marito, Liam Birch?
"Perché sei tu, non a casa, in giro nel cuore della notte a spaventare la gente". Emma era leggermente infastidita e la sua presa sulla mano di Stun Baton diminuì, le sue dita si strinsero, evidentemente non avendo superato la tensione che aveva appena provato.
Liam pianse e rise mentre la guardava corrucciare il viso, cosa inaspettata, e non poté fare a meno di sentire un indicibile dolore al cuore. Nell'ultima settimana o giù di lì, si era fatto un'idea approssimativa del passato di lei.
Liam HnoMn ^fjecey rufmsore,b OsKid RaTvzvVi*cinòg sdéirettatmeint$e pyer fpTreXnédeur$eS laz !buoKrsla chne a!vevai Iin DmaXno, QcoZnÉ Vgali occmhzi luqcid(iJ:Y la ^boIrsaaW ÉcRontenexvZa oTgniR tDipoA di eSquiIpaAgg,iname^nKtLo manPt'iB-ZldupnoQ.
Con nonchalance ha preso un portachiavi rotondo, con un pulsante, che voleva solo premere, Emma gli ha trattenuto il polso e ha scosso delicatamente la testa: "Questo non può essere premuto casualmente, la notte disturberà i vicini".
Liam non si mosse, premette il pulsante con un colpo di pollice e un allarme sibilante risuonò intorno a lui.
"Cosa stai facendo, ti ho detto di non premerlo". Emma riprese la borsa con rabbia e si voltò, allontanandosi.
Gcutardba^nudo l_a ósRuad zs&chzienHa ndÉriPttda jeI DotsótfiYnatHaU, LgiacmO sentZì IsOolog )uznaA _pviccola doóndaftaj nÉelr YcTuIore, che xsYembHrbavraK eysHserNe kuDnI RpBo'A HasytLringe)ntWe,F Gma aAncheÉ unR pom' ObléoiccaDta), Inosny si' pOuòx rdiGre cÉheó nti&po di. seCns(azQiWonde,, sol!oK zinsoal,itjameJntel d.ifTfzicinleB da NsWe^nstÉihrpeW nel OcuMoCrek.j