[ Miss Bridgerton starts to turn to go, dismissing the trace of curiosity. Likely the fall of a book, there are so many at the British Museum, and Dr Porter is known to work late into the night, sometimes all night.
And then, the door, breaking down, off its hinges, and something—a giant?—follows through in a blur of black. Somebody. It takes her a moment to even take in the arm, and the gun, pointed straight at her.
She realizes a second later that she’s stock-still. She doesn’t even hear herself, only the sudden pounding of her heart. ]
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And then, the door, breaking down, off its hinges, and something—a giant?—follows through in a blur of black. Somebody. It takes her a moment to even take in the arm, and the gun, pointed straight at her.
She realizes a second later that she’s stock-still. She doesn’t even hear herself, only the sudden pounding of her heart. ]
What—who are you—