Emma had no idea how, or why, but a situation that already seemed dire had just become worse. She'd been out looking for Mary-Margaret. It was late, and pouring it down with rain, and a quick glance around the forest had caused her to almost miss the person walking ahead of her. She swerved hard out of the way, narrowly avoiding hitting them, but sending them stumbling onto the ground. Rushing out to find they had twisted their ankle, she offered them a ride home.

At Jefferson's mansion, Emma took a moment by the fire to gather her thoughts and warm up a little. Jefferson limped in with a cup of tea on a tray, and a map of Storybrooke rolled up under his arm. Emma accepted the tea, sipping it as she laid the map out across the piano, tracing the routes with her finger. But then she began to find that she felt.. drowsy. Her vision blurred, and the room spun around her. Her balance faltered, and Jefferson caught her, guiding her to lay down on the sofa. The last thing Emma remembered before passing out was realising that Jefferson wasn't limping anymore.

Back at the Sheriff's station, you were getting worried. Emma wasn't answering your messages, despite you sending many of them. Eventually, the feeling in your gut won over, and you took one of the Sheriff's cars to find her, using her phone to track her location.

Pulling up at Jefferson's mansion, you saw Emma's yellow beetle parked outside. You didn't trust this for a second. Gripping the gun in the holster of your belt, you approached the door, cautiously opening it and tip-toeing inside. You didn't see anyone around immediately, so made your way to the living room — and that's where you found Emma. Still on the sofa, unconscious, her hands and feet tied with duct tape, and her mouth gagged with fabric.