CHAPTER 3 : EMMA

Emma slowly emerged from the fog of unconsciousness, her head heavy and aching, as if an invisible hammer were relentlessly pounding against her temples. A throbbing pain radiated through her skull, pulsing in sync with the erratic rhythm of her frantic heart. Each beat echoed within her, a deafening drum preventing her from thinking clearly. A relentless nausea clung to her throat, forcing her to breathe slowly, lest she succumb to a wave of dizziness. She had never blacked out from drinking, but she supposed this was what it must feel like after a night of excess.

She attempted to open her eyes, but the harsh light slashed through her retinas, tearing a pained whimper from her lips. Her eyelids slammed shut instantly, forcing her to grapple with her state without the aid of sight. The air was crisp, laden with the scent of damp moss and freshly turned earth—so different from the delicate fragrance of the roses on her bedside table or the soft perfume of fabric softener that clung to her sheets.

Groaning, a faint "Please... some painkillers..." escaped her cracked lips. As she shifted, she let out a muffled curse when twigs snapped beneath her weight and damp leaves clung to her face. Gone was the sweet comfort of her beloved pillow and cherished duvet.

Stray strands of her long brown hair slipped into her parched mouth, and she spat them out in disgust. How the hell had she ended up here? Swearing like a sailor when a sharp twig dug into her ribs, she suddenly froze at an unexpected sound. A sob. A desperate, high-pitched, hysterical wail that sent her heart hammering against her chest.

Marie.

The memory of the accident surged back in a terrifying flash, and she bolted upright. As the fog of pain and nausea lifted from her mind, she scrambled into action.

Dizziness swept over her, her vision momentarily darkening from the abrupt rush of blood. She barely avoided vomiting on herself, her stomach twisting in fierce warning, but she ignored it all, propelling herself forward on all fours toward the curled-up figure a few feet away. The uneven ground bruised her knees as she frantically crawled, but she couldn't care less. Her only priority was her daughter.

Her arms closed around the trembling little body with absolute urgency. Marie was there, alive, sobbing uncontrollably against her shoulder. The ragged rhythm of her breathing was both a relief and an agony. How long had she been crying, alone and terrified, in this unfamiliar place? Emma frantically examined her, her trembling fingers searching for any sign of injury, any trace of blood. But there was nothing. No bruises, no cuts on her delicate skin. The only signs of distress were a dirt-stained pair of tights and a single missing shoe.

A crushing wave of relief crashed over her, tearing a choked sob from her throat—one she quickly swallowed down.

"It's okay, Marie. It's okay," she whispered, rocking her clumsily. "Mommy's here, don't worry."

But Emma knew it was a lie.

Even through the haze clouding her thoughts, reason refused to be deceived. Nothing about this situation was right. She vividly remembered their car plunging into the void, the sheer terror that had gripped her. None of it had been imagined. They shouldn't have survived.

As her thoughts grew sharper and the pounding in her skull dulled to a heavy ache, she took in her surroundings. Towering trees loomed over them, their massive trunks standing like silent sentinels. Oaks, ash trees, and chestnuts intertwined in an almost perfect harmony, their branches weaving together in a seamless dance. The ground was blanketed in a thick layer of fallen leaves, interspersed with sharp twigs. Around them, nature reigned undisturbed, untouched by human presence.

Her breath hitched as she realized the most glaring absence of all—their crashed car.

A sharp sting of her teeth against her lower lip grounded her. Nothing in their surroundings suggested an accident had occurred. No broken branches, no crumpled metal, no shattered glass. Nothing.

She closed her eyes for a second, trying to steady the frantic beat of her heart. Her entire body screamed that something was terribly, irrevocably wrong. Tightening her hold on Marie, she scanned their surroundings with growing dread.

She had no idea where they were. And that was terrifying. What was she supposed to do in the middle of nowhere? The place was completely unfamiliar. The ground was dry, untouched by the torrential rainstorm she had last seen. Even an entire day of sunlight wouldn't have erased the floodwaters from the day before. By all logic, there should have been puddles of mud, damp leaves. Were they even still in Auvergne? In France? Hell, were they even still in Europe?

"We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," she murmured with a breathless, nervous laugh.

Marie didn't answer. She simply sniffled against her shoulder, her tiny arms clutching at her sweater. A quiet dread bloomed in Emma's chest, one she fought to suppress. Rocking her precious daughter with slightly jerky motions, she swallowed down the sobs threatening to break free.

Don't cry. Don't scream. Easy to say, harder to do.

Listening to Marie's sniffling quieting down, she pressed a soft kiss to her little head. The familiar baby scent soothed something deep within her, and she let out a slow breath as her daughter's breathing evened out. At least, for now, the crying had stopped.

"Mommy will fix this," she promised. "Everything will be okay."

She needed to think. Find a landmark. Figure out what had happened.

Gently running her fingers through her daughter's blonde curls, she suddenly froze as something felt... off. Her gaze snapped down to her fingertips, drawn to what had caught her attention. And then she saw them.

Hidden beneath Marie's golden locks, delicate and small in proportion to her childlike features, were two pointed ears.

They weren't unnatural. In fact, they blended seamlessly into the contours of her daughter's face, as though they had always been there. No scars, no signs of surgical alteration. They were as much a part of her as her curls, her sky-blue eyes, her tiny hands.

But still... pointed ears.

Her mind fixated on the detail, unable to move past it. If there had been any lingering doubt that their situation was beyond comprehension, this was it.

"Dad," she choked out, voice barely above a whisper. "We need Dad."

Her eyes swept the landscape, but he wasn't there. No trace of Leo. No sleeping figure nearby, no familiar man with short blond hair and warm brown eyes watching over them.

They were alone. Just the two of them, in this unknown forest.

Leo was her rock, her anchor. He faced every challenge with a quiet strength that bordered on the absurd. Calm, unshakable in any crisis—Emma had no doubt he would have known exactly what to do, what to say to ease the panic tightening around her throat.

What was she supposed to do without him? How was she even supposed to handle this?

She wanted to scream, to cry, to let the sheer terror crushing her chest take over. But she couldn't. The only thing stopping her was the small, fragile body clinging to her. Marie needed her. She couldn't afford to break.

Swallowing hard, she took a trembling breath and rose to her feet, holding her daughter close.

"We're going to find Dad, okay?"

But as she pushed back a stray lock of her own hair, her fingers brushed against a curve that shouldn't have been there. A sleek, sharp point.

Her breath hitched.

A dry, hysterical laugh broke the heavy silence.

This was too much. Far too much. She didn't know where they were. She didn't know how they got here. And now... she had them too? These impossible, inhuman ears?

Her world was slipping through her fingers.

And Emma wasn't ready for this.