Tension

The scene below was chaos incarnate. The crowd pressed forward like a tide. Nicholas, standing on the balcony with Emberline, watched as the line of policemen before the prison braced themselves. At first, the officers seemed calm, their shields and batons raised in anticipation. But the mob surged closer, and the tension snapped like a brittle thread.

"Here we go again," Nicholas muttered.

Emberline leaned on the balcony’s edge, her face alight with curiosity and adrenaline. “We’re right in the middle of history,” she said, her voice almost awed.

Nicholas frowned, his unease growing. “History or not, we should go back. Now.”

She turned to him, her brows furrowing. “Why?”

He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t want to see you hurt. And if you do get hurt, it’ll be on me.”

Her lips quirked into a wry smile, though her eyes softened. “We’ll be fine, Nicholas. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you. What more do we need?”