And out stepped a man in an elegant grey suit, tall and poised, with silver-streaked hair and eyes that looked like they’d seen both pain and wisdom. He held a single white rose.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
He looked around for a moment, then walked… straight toward Emma.
The girl blinked in confusion, unsure if it was a mistake. But the man stopped in front of her, knelt slightly, and held out the rose.
“Emma Madison?” he said gently.
