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The night settles into an uneasy quiet, broken only by our ragged breathing.
I lean into Blaze, my body trembling. Charlie helps Jon slide down against an air conditioning unit, his leg a mess of blood and bandages. She doesn’t look much better, her left side rigid from what looks like a direct shot to her vest.
“Extraction’s inbound,” Jenny announces, pressing her comm deeper into her ear. “Five minutes out.”
Five Rufi units maintain their protective circle, frames battle-scarred, but their systems still track for threats.
Blaze tilts my chin up, his eyes locking onto mine.
“Let’s go home,” he says, his voice raw, filled with a tenderness that makes my chest tighten.
I nod, a tear slipping down my cheek. “Home,” I whisper, the word a promise, a hope. For the first time, it feels real.
I’ve never had a home.
The word catches in my throat. Images flash through my mind—dark cells below, small faces pressed against chain link, eyes full of fear and lost hope.
The children.
My body goes rigid.
“Wait.”
“Ember?” Blaze pulls back, searching my face.
“The kids.” My voice cracks. “In the basement. We can’t… I can’t leave them.”
Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed quickly by determination. “Jenny?—”
“I heard.” She’s already moving, signaling Mac and Brett. “How many?”
“At least six that I saw.” The words tumble out. “Maybe more. They’re keeping them in cells, like animals. Please.” I grip Blaze’s tactical vest, ignoring the wet warmth of blood soaking through. “I was one of them once. I can’t walk away. Not this time.”
Jenny assesses the team—three walking wounded, two exhausted but functional, and five battered Rufi units.
“We’re not walking away,” she says, her voice steel. The helicopter grows closer, but her hand is already up, signaling it to hold position. “Not without those kids.”
The rescue chopper hovers above, its spotlight painting the roof in harsh white light. Jenny signals for it to land and take Charlie and Jon.
But we’re not done.
Not yet.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Blaze
The medevac chopper’sdowndraft whips across the rooftop as it lifts Charlie and Jon to safety.
Blood from my reopened wounds mingles with sweat, each drop stinging like a thousand needles. Every breath sends shards of broken ribs grinding together beneath bruised flesh.
Ember moves toward the elevator. My hand shoots out, catching her wrist despite screaming muscles.
“Not the elevator.” The words taste like copper, my split lip reopening. “Too easy to trap. Too easy to cut the cables. One thermite charge and we’re dead.”
Her eyes meet mine, trust warring with urgency. The need to protect her burns hotter than the fever building in my battered body.
“Form up,” Jenny orders, her voice carrying the weight of command. “Mac, Brett—rear guard, five-meter spread. Rufis, on point with overlapping fields of fire. Blaze…” Her eyes soften fractionally. “Keep Ember center mass. No one touches her.”