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THIRTY

Ember

Time drags in the silence that follows Wolfe’s departure, each minute stretching into what feels like an eternity. The air in the room grows colder and heavier as the hours pass, an oppressive weight pressing down on me.

Shadows creep closer, twisting across the walls like specters. Wolfe’s absence only sharpens the sense of dread, the foreboding seeping into my bones, tightening around my chest like an icy vise.

I shift my position against the wall, sore muscles protesting, my mind racing over what Wolfe might do next. The unknown is worse than the pain, and each possible scenario is more twisted than the last. The cold seeps into my skin, and I force myself to focus, to stay sharp, even as exhaustion threatens to drag me under.

The door creaks open again, breaking the unbearable quiet. Wolfe saunters back in, his expression unreadable, but an air of satisfaction clings to him, a dark aura that makes my skin prickle. This time, he holds a manila folder. The way he carries it, so casual yet deliberate, sends a chill racing down my spine.

My stomach twists as he drops it on the table with a soft thud, the sound reverberating through the room like a warning, a prelude to something far worse. The silence that follows is thick, the tension almost suffocating as he lets the moment stretch, drawing the fear out of me like venom from a wound.

“You know,” he begins, flipping the folder open, his voice deceptively light, “I’ve always prided myself on reading people. It’s a valuable skill in my line of work.”

His fingers trail over the papers inside, a predatory smile playing at his lips. Something about the way he touches the documents, as if he’s savoring a secret, makes my blood run cold.

“And what I’m reading between you and our dear Mr. Hawkins is—fascinating.”

My throat tightens, but I force out a laugh. “What, that he’s got a hero complex? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not breaking news.”

Wolfe’s eyes flick up to meet mine, sharp and knowing, and I can see the amusement dancing there, dark and twisted. He’s enjoying this—drawing out my fear, watching me squirm. He leans in slightly, his presence filling the space between us, suffocating.

“Oh, it goes far beyond that. The way he looks at you, the risks he’s taken—for you. It’s more than duty. It’s personal.”

He pulls out a photo and turns it toward me. It’s grainy, clearly taken from a security camera, but unmistakable: Blaze and me at the safe house. He cupping my cheek, our faces close, the tension between us palpable even in the image. My chest tightens, the memory resurfacing with painful clarity.

“Care to explain this?” Wolfe’s voice slips through the air, barely above a whisper, yet it cuts like a blade. The softness of his tone is deceptive, laced with a quiet menace that sends a chill down my spine. There’s no need for him to raise his voice—he knows the threat is already understood.

I swallow hard, willing my face to remain impassive. The urge to react, to lash out or deny, simmers beneath the surface, but I bury it deep. I can’t let him see.

“What’s to explain? You said it yourself—hero complex. He was just doing his job.”

“Was he?” Wolfe leans in closer, his cologne suffocating in the small space, the scent sickly sweet and overwhelming. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Blaze Hawkins, the unshakeable operative, has developed quite the—attachment to my little flame.”

The words drip with possession. My stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising as the words linger in the air.

My little flame.

I grit my teeth, the words crawling under my skin, igniting a slow burn of anger. I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms, the sting grounding me, keeping me from losing control.

“You’re reaching,” I mutter, but even I can hear the weakness in my voice, the trembling edge I don’t mean to show.

“Am I?” Wolfe pulls out another photo. This one shows Blaze carrying me out of the warehouse, his face a mask of fierce determination. “He’s compromised, and you know it. That makes you a liability.”

Memories flood back—the warmth of Blaze’s arms around me, the intensity in his eyes, the way my heart races when he’s near. I swallow hard, forcing the emotions down, locking them away deep where Wolfe can’t reach them.

I keep my face blank, my expression empty. I won’t give him any ammunition to use against me. I take a slow breath, steadying myself, and let my eyes meet Wolfe’s, cold and defiant.

“You think you know everything,” I say, voice steady, even, “but you don’t know me. As for him? He’s got a thing for saving strays. Congratulations, you’ve cracked the code. You deserve a prize.”

Wolfe chuckles, the sound low and sinister, reverberating through the small room, sending chills down my spine.

“Oh, my dear. It’s not his feelings I’m interested in.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his breath ghosting over my ear. “It’s yours.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I open my mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, but nothing comes out. Because deep down, in a place I’ve been desperately trying to ignore, he’s right. That terrifies me more than anything else in this godforsaken room because Wolfe has a weapon.

And he knows it.

Wolfe’s words echo in my ears, a relentless drumbeat of truth I can’t escape. The room fades away, and suddenly, I’m back in that safe house, Blaze’s arms around me, his breath warm on my cheek.

“You’re safe now,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I’ve got you.”

The memory shifts and fragments. Blaze’s hand on my arm, steadying me as we ran through city streets. The intensity in his eyes as he cleaned a cut on my forehead, his touch impossibly gentle. The way he looked at me with a rare smile softening his features.

My chest tightens, a dull ache spreading beneath my ribs. Blaze stands between me and danger, his body a shield, his presence a promise of safety I’ve never known.

Wolfe’s right. I’m a liability to Blaze.

The subway station flashes before my eyes. Blaze pulling me close as the train doors closed, shutting out our pursuers. The thundering of my heart, not from the chase, but from his proximity. The unspoken tension crackling between us.

“Whatever happens,” he murmured, his lips brushing my ear, “we face it together.”

Each memory burns brighter than the last, searing away the doubt and fear.

Blaze, who risked everything for me.

Blaze, who sees beyond the street rat, the survivor, to the person underneath.

Blaze, who believes in me when I don’t believe in myself.

New feelings surge through me, fierce and unshakeable. It’s not about saving my skin anymore. It’s about protecting him the way he protects me.

I blink hard, forcing myself back to the present. Wolfe’s cold eyes bore into me, searching for weakness. But he won’t find it.

Not anymore.

Because I have something worth fighting for. Someone worth any price.

I meet Wolfe’s gaze, steel in my spine and fire in my heart. Whatever game he’s playing, whatever he throws at me next, I’ll face it.

Wolfe’s patience wears thin, his carefully cultivated veneer of civility cracking. His eyes narrow, lips pressing into a thin line, and I see the cracks in his composure—a flicker of frustration beneath that cold facade.

He nods to someone outside the door, and two burly men enter, their presence filling the small space with a suffocating menace. My muscles tense, instinct screaming to run, but there’s nowhere to go, no way out.

The air shifts, charged with impending violence. Wolfe’s gaze is locked on mine, predatory and gleaming with barely contained rage.

“Last chance,” he says, his voice a silky caress, dangerous in its softness. “Tell me what I want to know.”

I spit at his feet, my heart pounding, the taste of defiance sharp on my tongue.

“Go to hell.”

The blow comes faster than I can brace for it. Pain explodes across my cheek, white-hot and blinding. My head snaps to the side, my vision blurring with tears I refuse to shed. The coppery tang of blood floods my mouth.

Before I can catch my breath, rough hands seize my arms, jerking them behind me with brutal force. Cold metal bites into my wrists—handcuffs, tight enough to cut off circulation, the steel unforgiving against my skin.

“Now, now,” Wolfe tuts, circling me with that same predatory grace, his voice dripping with mockery. “Let’s not be hasty. We have all the time in the world.” His words promise torment, a slow, deliberate descent into hell.

A sudden deluge of ice water crashes over me, shocking the breath from my lungs. The cold is instant, vicious, and searing as my body jerks involuntarily. I gasp, my breath coming in ragged bursts, my entire body shivering violently. Wolfe circles closer, like a shark scenting blood, his eyes alight with dark satisfaction.

“Blaze’s team,” he hisses, his voice a knife edge, slicing through the fog of pain. “Their capabilities. Tell me.”

The cold gnaws at my bones, my teeth chattering as I fight to speak.

“I don’t know anything,” I grit out, my voice barely more than a whisper. “Why would I?”

A fist slams into my gut, the impact doubling me over. Stars explode behind my eyes, my knees buckling, but they don’t let me fall. Strong hands keep me upright, holding me steady for the next blow.

And the next.

And the next.

Time loses all meaning, the world narrowing to a cycle of pain—relentless, raw, all-consuming. My ribs scream in protest, giving way with a sickening crack under the force of a particularly brutal kick.

A cold object presses against my thigh, and before I can brace myself, electricity surges through me, white-hot and unforgiving. My muscles seize, convulsing violently, every nerve set ablaze as a scream rips from my throat—ragged, desperate, the sound of a soul pushed to its breaking point.

My vision blurs, dark spots dancing at the edges, and I can’t tell if the tremors shaking my body are from the electricity or the sheer exhaustion eating away at my strength. Each breath is a struggle, a war against the crushing weight of pain that refuses to let go.

Through it all, Wolfe’s voice drones on, a dark and twisted lullaby demanding answers I refuse to give. Each refusal earns me another blow, another shock, another torment, but with every burst of agony, Blaze’s face flashes in my mind.

His eyes, fierce and unyielding.

His voice, promising safety.

His presence, my anchor.

I retreat deep inside of myself to a place Wolfe can’t touch, can’t corrupt. I’ve survived worse. I’ve endured more than he can imagine. This pain is temporary.

This will pass.

“Enough.” Finally, Wolfe’s patience shatters. He turns to the guards, a snarl twisting his lips. “Perhaps a different approach is needed.”

The room blurs, my consciousness slipping, the edges of reality fading as exhaustion pulls me under. But even as darkness claims me, one thought remains, burning bright amidst the haze of pain:

I didn’t break.

This isn’t defeat. This is only a temporary reprieve in a battle I refuse to lose.