A hand shot out, fingers encircling her wrist and pulling her into the stairwell. Emma’s breath was caught in her throat, tumbling forward as the red haired man swung her around. Her back slammed into the wall, a flash of silver before her brain was able to registar the small scapel that hovered over her throat. It happened so quickly that Emma never felt fear until she realized the threat, and even then she forced it down a tiny smile. “Why are you following me,” the man hissed and this close up, Emma could see the damage to his face. Someone had struck him hard: one eye a faint bluish black, tinged with red, almost as if he wore makeup on that eye. His bottom lip was split and Emma winced at how painful it looked. “Answer me!”
	“I was worried about you.”
	His blue eyes widened- had he not expected the truth? “Why?”
	Emma blinked, her smile fading. “Because…you looked like you were pain?”
	The scalpel lowered, the man taking slow, deep breaths. He was moving slowly, carefully, as if Emma would attack him with the slightest movement. In all honesty, the man reminded her of a cautious dog. “I think I have some ice for your eye. I mean,” Emma raised her hands, shrugging, “if you want it?”
	Emma saw how the man relaxed-the first time in this entire conversation- and he pocketed his weapon. “I’m Emma Ainsley by the way,” Emma chriped. “What’s your name?”
	He stared at her. “Do you always talk this much?”
	“Not always! Sometimes I squeal over weapondry.”