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TWENTY-TWO

Blaze

We move through the streets, ducking into every shadow, every forgotten corner the city has to offer. The night is thick and suffocating, but we keep to the fringes, staying low.

Ember leads with an ease born of survival, her instincts sharp as we weave through alleys and slip past danger.

We find temporary refuge in the hollowed shell of an old building, the roof long collapsed, but the walls are still standing.

It’s barely shelter, but it’s enough to keep us hidden. I crouch back against the cold stone, my eyes scanning the distant city lights as the adrenaline fades and exhaustion sets in.

Ember stays close, her breathing steady, but her eyes flick at every sound. The night passes in tense silence; only the distant hum of traffic and the occasional wail of sirens break through.

We wait for dawn, not daring to sleep, knowing that any moment could bring danger crashing down on us.

As the first light of pre-dawn begins to creep through the cracks, the city comes alive again. Ember shifts beside me, her fingers brushing mine. It’s a small touch, but it grounds me and pulls me out of my hyperawareness.

We made it through the night.

She glances at me, something unspoken passing between us.

“This way,” she whispers, tugging me to my feet. We slip back into the streets.

I follow her lead, trusting her street smarts more than my tactical training in this urban jungle. My boots splash through puddles of questionable liquid, each step sending ripples across the oily surface. The sound echoes off the walls, unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn quiet.

Ember moves with a grace born of necessity, her feet finding purchase on the slick pavement without hesitation.

The alley opens onto a street lined with boarded-up storefronts, their windows dark and accusing. A flickering streetlight casts intermittent shadows, transforming trash bags into crouching figures.

My grip tightens on my weapon, every sense on high alert. The hairs on my neck stand up, an animal instinct warning of unseen dangers.

Ember pauses at a dilapidated building, its facade a patchwork of graffiti and crumbling brick. The artwork tells stories of urban decay and lost hope.

“I used to crash in this place when things got rough.”

Her voice carries a weight of memory, hinting at a past I’m only beginning to understand.

I scan the street, searching for any signs of pursuit. Every rustle of wind and every distant siren sets my nerves on edge.

“You’re sure it’s safe?”

A wry smile twists her lips, a flash of vulnerability quickly masked. “Safe is relative in this part of town, but it’s our best bet right now.”

She leads me to a rusted fire escape, the metal groaning under our weight as we climb. Each step sends a jolt of pain through my body, leftovers from my earlier fights.

The rusty railing leaves streaks of oxidized metal on my palms. Ember winces as she pulls herself up, her face contorting in a grimace she tries to hide. The sight of her pain ignites a protective fury in my chest.

We slip through a broken window on the third floor, glass crunching beneath our feet. The sound is deafening in the quiet, and we both freeze, listening for any reaction.

Nothing but the distant wail of a siren.

The room beyond is a study in urban decay—peeling wallpaper curls from the walls like shed skin, revealing layers of lives lived and abandoned. A sagging mattress occupies one corner, its stained surface a canvas of untold stories. Empty bottles and cigarette butts litter the floor, a minefield of shattered dreams.

“Home sweet home,” Ember mutters, her tone something between bitter humor and resignation.

My body moves on autopilot, securing the space out of habit. I wedge a broken chair under the doorknob, its splintered legs a poor defense against the dangers outside. I trace the grain of the wood, wondering how many others have sought refuge here. I check the other windows, each a potential entry point for our pursuers.

Ember tracks my movements, her gaze a physical sensation on my skin, like heat crawling over me. It’s not just how she looks—it’s the way I feel it, burning through the air between us, sinking deep into my muscles.

My pulse kicks up, and suddenly, everything feels charged, deliberate, like I’m too aware of the space between us. Her eyes linger, setting my skin ablaze, and it takes everything in me to keep from turning toward her, from closing that gap.

“We should be good here for a few hours at least.” I turn back to her, hyperaware of the small space and our proximity. The air between us feels charged, buzzing with suppressed desires.

“God, I’m tired.” Ember sinks onto the mattress, exhaustion etched in every line of her body. “When did you last sleep?”

My shoulders rise in a noncommittal shrug, muscles protesting the movement. “Sleep’s overrated.”

“Says the man who looks like he’s about to fall over.” She pats the space beside her, the gesture both an invitation and challenge. “Come on, tough guy. Even heroes need rest.”

The mattress dips as I sit, springs creaking in protest. This close, the scent of her shampoo lingers beneath the layer of sweat and city grime. It’s intoxicating, stirring something primal in my chest. I fight the urge to bury my face in her hair, to lose myself in the warmth of her scent, in her softness, in everything that makes me forget the world outside this room.

“Let me look at those cuts.” Ember’s fingers ghost over my face, featherlight but leaving trails of fire in their wake. Her touch is gentle, at odds with the hardness in her eyes. She tears a strip from the bottom of her shirt, exposing a sliver of pale skin that draws my gaze like a magnet.

The makeshift cloth dabs at a gash above my eyebrow. A sharp sting makes me hiss, more from surprise than pain. The coppery scent of blood mingles with the musty air of the room.

“Sorry,” Ember murmurs, her breath warm against my cheek. Her touch is gentle, almost a caress. The tenderness in her actions contrasts sharply with the harshness of our surroundings.

“My turn.” I capture her hand, turning it over to examine the scrapes on her palm.

Her skin is soft despite the calluses, a testament to the life she’s led. My thumb traces the lines of her palm, and her pulse quickens beneath my touch. The rhythm of her heartbeat becomes a counterpoint to the distant sounds of the city.

Ember’s body tenses as I clean her wounds, but she doesn’t pull away. Her trust in me, despite everything, is both humbling and terrifying.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“Humor me.” I work in silence, cognizant of our proximity. My fingers linger on her wrist when I finish, reluctant to break contact.

Her eyes meet mine, green as sea glass and just as sharp. In their depths, a lifetime of pain and resilience shimmers.

“Thank you. For everything. I don’t know if I would have made it out of there without you.” The vulnerability in her voice tugs at something deep in my chest.

“Hey, we’re in this together. I’ve got your back.”

“Promise?” A small smile tugs at her lips, transforming her face. For a moment, I catch a glimpse of the girl she might have been in another life.

“Promise.” The word feels heavy, weighted with meaning beyond this moment. It’s more than a reassurance—it’s a vow.

We’re so close now, breaths mingling in the scant space between us. Ember’s tongue darts out to wet her lips, and my gaze is drawn to the movement.

The air crackles with electricity, charged with unspoken desires. The world beyond our hideout fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection.

My hand comes up, almost of its own accord, to brush a stray lock of hair from her face. Ember leans into the touch, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. When they open again, the intensity in her gaze steals my breath. The green of her irises is nearly consumed by the black of her pupils, a mirror of my desire.

“Blaze,” she whispers, my name a caress on her lips.

That’s all it takes. The last thread of my self-control snaps. I lean in, drawn by an irresistible force.

Our lips meet, and the world falls away.