Page 14

FOURTEEN

Ember

Aftermath and Revelations

The black SUV rolls to a stop, its tinted windows reflecting the early morning light. We’re joined by Jenny, the team leader, and a massive brick of a man named Mac. Jenny gets out first, her tactical gear gleams in the predawn twilight. She scans the perimeter, the visor of her helmet hiding her eyes but not her intensity.

“Let’s move.” Her voice is slightly muffled by her headgear.

Blaze opens the door and steps out, offering me a hand. He’s a towering figure in black armor. His face is hidden behind his helmet’s visor, the HUD glowing faintly.

I trace the contours of his gear, lingering on the sharp angles of his jawline barely visible beneath the helmet’s edge. The visor reflects my image, but I lean in, searching for a glimpse of his eyes behind it.

Are they as intense up close as I imagined in the warehouse? My heart quickens, picturing the strength and determination etched in every line of his face. I shake my head, banishing my errant thoughts. No matter how heroic he seems, now is not the time to fantasize about my rescuer.

Get it together, Ember.

Behind us, Aria climbs out of the second SUV. Like me, she’s dwarfed by the imposing figures in similar tactical gear. One is noticeably smaller than the others, another woman, I suppose.

We’re a ragtag group—two shell-shocked victims and a team of what looks like futuristic soldiers. Daniel doesn’t join us; his injuries were too severe and kept him at the hospital.

The safe house looms before us, a nondescript brick-and-mortar building. It promises security but screams confinement. My skin crawls at the thought of being locked up again, even if it’s for my protection.

After beating my addiction to street drugs, freedom is now my drug of choice, and right now, I’m going through serious withdrawal.

“Your father will be here shortly, Miss Holbrook,” Jenny says to Aria.

Aria nods, a flicker of hope lighting her eyes. Her shoulders straighten, tension easing from her frame.

My chest tightens, a dull ache spreading beneath my ribs. The air suddenly feels too thick, too heavy. I curl my fingers into fists, nails biting into my palms.

A father. Someone who moves heaven and earth to find you. Someone who hires mercenaries, spends fortunes, and turns the world upside down when you’re in danger.

I’ve never known that kind of love—that fierce, unconditional devotion.

The gulf between Aria and myself yawns wider and deeper than mere wealth could ever carve. It’s not about designer clothes or trust funds. It’s about belonging. About mattering to someone so much they’d tear the world apart to keep you safe.

I tear my gaze away from Aria, focusing on a crack in the concrete. My throat burns. My eyes sting. I blink hard, willing away the hot press of tears.

I’m alone.

Always have been.

A girl made of shadows and forgotten promises, surviving on scraps of kindness from strangers.

And strangers are never kind.

The weight of it all—years of loneliness, of being discarded and forgotten—threatens to crush me. I take a shaky breath, forcing air into lungs that suddenly feel ten sizes too small.

Pull it together, Ember. Self-pity won’t change a damn thing.

I straighten my spine and lift my chin. I may not have a father charging to my rescue, but I’m still here.

That has to count for something.

As we approach the entrance, Blaze leans close. Even through the helmet, his voice sends a shiver down my spine.

“You’ll be safe here.”

Safe. The word tastes like ashes in my mouth. When has anywhere ever been truly safe?

I want to run, to disappear into the labyrinth of city streets I know so well, but exhaustion weighs heavy on my limbs.

The door opens with a soft hiss, revealing an interior that’s all sleek lines and modern furnishings. It’s a far cry from the dank warehouse, but somehow, it feels just as oppressive.

At least in the warehouse, I knew where I stood. Here, in this sterile environment, I’m adrift.

As we step inside, I can’t help but steal another glance at Blaze. What kind of man lies beneath that armor? I quickly avert my gaze, silently chastising myself.

Focus on surviving. That’s what you’re good at. Leave the fairy tales for someone else.

Aria stumbles behind me, her designer clothes rumpled and torn. Her chin is up, but I catch the tremor in her hands and the glassy look in her eyes. She’s putting on a brave face, but the cracks are showing. Shock does that to a person, even the entitled ones.

“This way,” Jenny says, leading us to a spacious living room. “We’ll need to ask you both some questions.”

My muscles tense, every nerve ending screaming at me to run. The exit is right there. I could be out and lost in the city before they even realize I’m gone. It’s what I’ve always done when things got too intense or too real.

But Blaze is here. Even with his face hidden, I sense the intensity in his gaze. Something about his steady focus makes me hesitate. Trust isn’t my strong suit, but it’s all I’ve got right now.

I take a deep breath, fighting against years of street-honed instincts.

Stay.

Answer their questions.

Maybe then, they’ll let me go.

My fingers twitch, itching for an escape I’m not taking. Not yet, anyway, but the urge to flee thrums through my veins, a constant reminder that I’m way out of my comfort zone.

As I follow Jenny into the living room, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m walking into another kind of trap. One with softer walls but a cage, nonetheless.

“Hey.” Blaze’s voice cuts through my rising panic. He crouches in front of me, his head tilted slightly. “No one’s going to hurt you. We just need to understand what happened.”

I want to believe him—God, how I want to—but trust is a luxury I’ve never been able to afford.

“Whatever.” I sink into an overstuffed armchair. The cushions envelop me in a way that’s almost too soft, too comfortable.

I shift to perch on the edge, telling myself I need to be ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, but the luxury of the chair tugs at me, coaxing me deeper into the softness despite my instinct to stay alert.

Every muscle in my body aches, a constant reminder of Bruiser’s fists and boots. My ribs throb with each breath. All I want is to get back to my tiny apartment, strip out of these filthy clothes, and wash away the stench of fear and captivity in my rusty sink.

I long for the familiar lumps of my sofa and the comforting scents of my handmade candles—lavender for peace, cinnamon for warmth, eucalyptus for clarity. God, what I wouldn’t give to be standing in front of my hotplate right now, carefully melting wax and infusing it with fragrant oils.

The act of creation, of turning simple ingredients into something beautiful and soothing, has always been my escape. In those moments, stirring gently and watching the wax take shape, I almost believe in better days ahead.

But now, surrounded by watchful eyes, those dreams feel further away than ever. I’m exhausted, in pain, and completely out of my element.

Instead, I force myself to stay put, my body tense and ready for whatever comes next. But as I shift in the plush chair, I’m acutely aware of the threadbare fabric of my clothes scratching against my skin. The worn cotton, frayed at the edges and stained with God-knows-what, feels like a siren broadcasting my poverty to everyone in the room.

It’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.

After everything I’ve been through—the kidnapping, the beatings, the terror—it’s my ratty clothes that make me feel truly exposed.

Aria’s designer outfit, even rumpled, whispers elegance and power, while the team’s high-tech gear speaks of capability and precision.

Meanwhile, my thrift store rejects stand out, screaming “poor” and “unworthy” louder than any words ever could.

I resist the urge to pick at a loose thread on my sleeve, knowing it’ll only make things worse. Instead, I wrap my arms around myself, as much to hide the worst of the wear as to find some semblance of comfort.

It’s stupid to care about this now, with everything else going on, but I can’t help it. My shabby clothes are a physical manifestation of the gulf between me and everyone else in this room. A reminder that no matter what happens next, I’ll always be the outsider, the street rat trying to blend in with real people.

Their questions start gently at first:

What did we see?

What did we hear?

Did we recognize anyone?

Love that last one.

With each gentle probe, I shut down a little bit more. My responses are vague and noncommittal.

“I don’t know” becomes my mantra, even as memories of Bruiser’s words about moving us and an auction flash through my mind. I push them away, burying them deep.

The less I say, the safer I am.

That’s always been the rule.

“The men,” Jenny presses. “Can you describe them?”

A flash of memory hits me like a sucker punch to the gut. Rough hands, the stench of stale cigarettes, a voice that promised pain with every syllable. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing the images away.

“Big,” I manage. “Mean. What else matters?”

“Details matter,” Blaze says, an edge of frustration creeping into his voice. “Anything you remember could help us find them. How can you not care about what happened to you?”

His words sting, but I don’t let it show. Instead, I shrug, affecting an air of indifference I don’t really feel. “Been through worse. It’s over now, right?”

Blaze’s jaw tightens, his fingers drumming impatiently on the table. His foot taps restlessly, and I catch the slight flare of his nostrils with each sharp breath. The air between us feels heavier, crackling with the tension he’s barely holding in check.

Good.

Maybe if I push him hard enough, he’ll back off and leave me alone.

I open my mouth to snap at him, but Aria’s voice cuts me off.

“Leave her alone,” Aria suddenly says, surprising me with the steel in her tone. “Can’t you see she’s been through enough?”

Our eyes meet across the room, and a flicker of understanding passes between us—an unspoken connection that transcends words.

The designer labels and cool confidence fade away, revealing the scared girl underneath, someone who knows what it’s like to survive the unimaginable. She gives me a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment of shared trauma, and the weight of my own walls feels just a little lighter.

“Fine,” Jenny sighs. “Let’s take a break. Get some rest, both of you. We’ll continue this later.”

As our rescuers file out, Blaze’s shoulders sag just a little, the tension slipping from his frame. His steps are slower, more deliberate like the weight of something unseen is holding him back.

I shouldn’t be able to read it, but somehow, I know—disappointment. It shouldn’t get under my skin, but it does. I shove the feeling aside, forcing myself to stay detached. I can’t afford to care what he thinks. I can’t afford to care about any of this.

“Ember—” Blaze turns around, but I cut him off before he can say more.

“Don’t,” I warn, my voice shaky. “Just—don’t.”

I’m too weak to hear the disappointment in his tone, not strong enough to face whatever comes next.

He nods, respecting my boundaries even as concern radiates off him in waves. The door closes behind him softly, leaving Aria and me alone in the too-quiet room.

“You okay?” I ask, the words feeling foreign on my tongue. Since when do I care about the well-being of spoiled rich girls?

“Yeah, I’m just peachy.” Aria’s laugh is brittle, edged with hysteria. “Nearly sold into slavery, but hey, at least I got a fun story for my father’s next fundraising gala. Nothing like a little trauma to spice up those mind-numbing events.”

“Your galas sound so rough.” I’m unable to keep the disdain from my voice, but there’s something in her tone, a hint of resentment, which catch my attention.

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth twitches. It’s a joke—a poor one, but a joke, nonetheless.

“At least you get to do what you want.” Aria shrugs, her designer shirt slips off one shoulder. “No expectations, no constant scrutiny. No gilded cage.”

“Yeah, freedom to starve is great.” I snort. “You undervalue that gilded cage of yours.”

She looks at me then, really looks at me. “What were you doing on the street? You know, when—when it happened?”