Emma's frozen still, still holding her cellphone loosely in one hand; her gaze tracks from the gun at her head to the implacable eyes staring into hers.
She inhales, and wets her lips.
"Trust me," she manages, in passable tones of threat, "you don't want to do that."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2008-01-31 09:33 pm (UTC)She inhales, and wets her lips.
"Trust me," she manages, in passable tones of threat, "you don't want to do that."