Page 121

“Guardian HRS has a facility in Northern California,” Blaze adds quietly. “Plenty of space for a workshop.”
“California?” The word feels foreign on my tongue.
“Perfect location,” Aria chimes in. “High-end market, eco-conscious consumers. Plus, you’d be near Blaze.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “You two planning my whole life now?”
“Just offering options.” Her voice softens. “You decide. For the first time in your life, you get to choose. Oh my God. I’m so excited. It’s going to be epic. Please tell me you’re on board.”
Choice. Such a simple word for such a monumental concept.
“I’ll think about it.” The words come out stronger than I intend.
“That’s all I ask.” Keys click again. “I’m sending you some preliminary numbers. Or at least, I’m sending them to a chick called Mitzy. She gave me Blaze’s number and said she could get stuff to you. Just—look them over? Dream a little?”
Blaze’s arms wrap around me from behind, mindful of our injuries. His chest rises and falls against my back, steady as a heartbeat.
“Okay.” I lean into his embrace. “I can do that.”
“Good.” A pause, then softly, “You deserve this. You risked your life to save others; now it’s time for you to live a little.”
The call ends, but her words linger in the air.
Survive versus live.
Such a simple distinction, yet it changes everything.
“She’s right, you know.” Blaze’s voice rumbles through both our bodies. “About all of it.”
I turn in his arms, pressing my face into his chest. His heartbeat drums against my cheek, solid and steady.
“I’m scared,” I whisper into his shirt. “I know nothing about running an actual business. Most days, I barely made enough to eat, and I was always late on rent.”
“Let’s be scared together.” His lips brush my hair. “Come with me to California.”
Together.
Another simple word that changes everything.
FORTY
Ember
Blaze wastes no time,because the next day, empty boxes mock me from the floor, their cardboard mouths gaping wide, waiting to swallow my life.
Boxes.
Only three boxes.
The apartment suddenly feels both too small and too large—years of survival compressed into this tiny space.
“We don’t have to do this today.” Blaze’s hand spans my lower back, his touch featherlight against bruised skin. “You’re still healing.”
The scope of packing overwhelms me—not because there’s so much, but because there’s so little. Everything I own fits in two boxes, maybe three, counting my candle supplies.
“No.” My voice comes out stronger than expected. “I need to do this now. Before…”
“Before, what?”