Page 37

THIRTY-SEVEN

Ember

An explosion shudders through the building’s foundation. Wolfe’s phone buzzes—once, twice, three times in rapid succession. His perfectly manicured control fractures as he snatches it up.

“Report.” The edge in his voice cuts like a blade.

The blood drains from his face. “What do you mean they’ve breached the perimeter?”

Another tremor rocks the penthouse. Coffee sloshes over the rim of his cup, the dark liquid seeps into papers across his mahogany desk. His fingers tighten on the phone until his knuckles go white.

“Kill them,” he barks. “I don’t care how. Just stop them.”

His eyes dart to the security feeds. Screen after screen shows chaos erupting. Blood paints the walls of the stairwell. Bodies tumble like broken dolls.

My heart thunders against my ribs.

They’re coming.

I take one step toward the door, and then another. Freedom whispers my name, urging me onward and promising safety.

Wolfe moves like a striking snake. His hand clamps around my waist, yanking me off my feet before I can react. The air rushes from my lungs as he crushes me against him, the sudden force knocking the breath out of me.

“Going somewhere, little flame?” His breath scorches my ear, rage trembling beneath each word. “You’re mine now. Belong to me. There’s no way you’re leaving my side. Remember our deal.” His words are an iron shackle, his voice thick with possession.

The phone crackles with static. “Sir—third floor breached… heavy casualties… they’ve got some kind of mechanical…” A scream cuts through the transmission. Then silence.

“Impossible.” His grip tightens, fingertips digging into my flesh, sharp and unrelenting. “An entire security team against six people?”

I try to twist away, using the distraction to my advantage. His fingers clamp down, a relentless vise that holds me in place. Another screen on his security panel goes dark. Then another.

“Fifth floor compromised!” The voice is breathless, panicked. “The machines—they’re not stopping… Oh God—” Gunfire drowns out the rest.

The eighth floor erupts in flames. The security feed shows mechanical hounds tearing through Wolfe’s men like paper—blood sprays across the camera lens, painting it red.

“They’re unstoppable,” someone gasps through the comm. “They’re not human… they’re—” The transmission dissolves into static and screaming.

Wolfe hurls the phone. It explodes against the wall in a shower of components. “This isn’t happening. This was perfect. My plan was perfect.”

He paces, his grip on me never loosening, dragging me with him. Panic bubbles in his movements, a jittery edge to his usually composed demeanor. His eyes dart around the room, searching for answers, for control that he no longer has. I feel it in his fingers, how they clench and unclench. His composure cracks.

Somewhere beneath my fear, a flicker of hope flares to life.

The tablet on his desk lights up. More reports flood in.

Twelfth floor—complete slaughter. The feed shows Guardian’s team moving like ghosts through smoke, each shot a kill. The Rufi move with precision, metal sinew, and relentless instinct.

Fourteenth floor—his elite squad torn apart by mechanical jaws and suppressive fire. Limbs and bodies, scattered like ragdolls.

Sixteenth floor—tactical team down in seconds.

His empire crumbles floor by floor, each loss carved into the deepening lines of his face. His lips draw back in a snarl, eyes narrowed with a fury that no longer hides the creeping fear.

He’s losing.

His perfect world is unraveling.

“Sir!” A guard bursts in, blood streaming from a head wound, his eyes wide with terror. “Johnson’s team is gone. Mason’s unit isn’t responding. We’re losing?—”

“Shut up!” Wolfe’s spittle flecks the air. His voice cracks, control slipping away. “Call in everyone. Every asset. Every weapon. Flood the stairwells with gas. Collapse the building if you have to.”

The guard’s radio spits static. A voice cuts through: “…they’re everywhere… targeting systems too fast… can’t stop…”

Twentieth floor goes dark.

“The helicopter,” Wolfe snaps, his face a mask of frustration, desperation simmering underneath. “Where is it?”

“Two minutes out, but, sir—the roof is exposed. We need?—”

An explosion rocks the building. The guard stumbles, catching himself against the wall.

“Get up there!” Wolfe roars, shoving the guard toward the door. “Secure our exit. Now.”

The guard runs, his boots leaving bloody prints on the pristine carpet, a symbol of Wolfe’s crumbling empire.

Wolfe drags me toward the roof access, his grip bruising, relentless. “Time to go, little flame. Our partnership isn’t finished.”

I twist in his grasp, my free hand swiping across his desk. My fingers close around something smooth and sharp—a letter opener. I tuck it against my side, the metal cool against my palm.

“Let me go.” I struggle against his grip.

His laugh splinters at the edges, madness seeping through. “After everything I’ve built? Everything I’ve sacrificed?” His fingers dig deeper, and I feel the pressure, bruising muscle and bone. “You’re mine. My weapon. My achievement. Mine!”

The security feeds paint a story of destruction. Blaze’s team flows through the building like an unstoppable tide. The Rufi units bound ahead, mechanical death-dealing precision killing machines. There’s nothing but red and darkness on the screens now, a massacre unfolding floor by floor.

The twenty-first floor falls.

“Sir!” The tablet screams to life. “They’ve got some kind of tech we’ve never seen. They’re mapping the building faster than we can—” Static swallows the rest.

The twenty-second floor erupts in chaos.

“… multiple breaches … they’re ghosts … can’t stop … please…”

Wolfe’s remaining guards pour into the office. Blood and fear paint their faces, desperation in their eyes. They’re not soldiers anymore, just men fighting for their lives.

“Hold them,” Wolfe commands, his voice cracking. “Whatever it takes.”

The men take positions, weapons trained on the door. Their hands shake. Sweat drips onto the expensive carpets, staining them, just like Wolfe’s empire is being stained with blood.

The tablet displays the slaughter below. Floor by floor, Wolfe’s carefully constructed world burns. His men fall like dominoes before Guardian’s assault; each collapse a testament to their unstoppable resolve.

“Status report,” Wolfe barks into the radio, his face twisted with rage and fear.

Only static answers.

The helicopter’s blades thrum closer, growing louder but not loud enough to drown out the chaos closing in.

A guard’s radio crackles. “They’re through. Twenty-third floor… oh God, the blood… they’re not stopping… they’re?—”

Silence.

Wolfe drags me toward the roof stairs, his composure shredding with every breath. “Move!” he yells, his eyes wild.

“Incoming!” A guard screams, his face twisted in terror.

The office door explodes inward. Smoke billows, filling the room in thick, dark waves. Red targeting lasers pierce the haze, like death itself reaching out.

The guards open fire, their shots wild with panic. Bullets tear through the smoke, blind and desperate.

Mechanical shapes surge through the haze. they leap, their metal jaws finding throats, arteries, weak points in armor. They move like shadows—silent, deadly, relentless.

Screams fill the air. Blood paints the walls, dripping in scarlet rivulets. The guards fall, their bodies broken by machine and bullet alike. The room becomes a slaughterhouse.

Wolfe yanks me through the roof access door, slamming it shut behind us. A helicopter’s roar drowns out the carnage below as he drags me across the roof. The wind whips around us, tearing at my hair and biting into my skin.

“You’re not leaving me,” he snarls, his face twisted in fury and desperation. “You’re mine. Forever mine.”

The helicopter descends, its blades slicing through the night air. But below, the sounds of systematic destruction continue, getting closer.

Floor by floor.

They’re coming, and nothing is going to stop them.

Blaze is coming.

And Wolfe’s world is burning.

The roof access door splinters behind us. Metal screams as it tears from its hinges.

Smoke pours through the opening, dark tendrils curling into the night. Red targeting lasers pierce the darkness, searching.

Mechanical paws click against the concrete, the sound deliberate, echoing like a countdown.

Wolfe backs toward the helicopter, yanking me along with him, his arm crushing my windpipe. I can barely breathe, and each gasp is a struggle. My fingers curl tighter around the letter opener, the sharp edge biting into my palm.

“Stay back!” Wolfe screams into the wind, his voice cracking. “I’ll kill her! I swear I’ll?—”.

Through the smoke, shapes emerge. Shadow warriors made flesh, moving like death incarnate.

And at their head, drenched in blood and battle, stands Blaze.

His face is shadowed beneath the tactical HUD, but even through the darkened visor, I feel the weight of his gaze—a visceral, unyielding promise cutting through the chaos like a blade. It burns, bright as fire, and as fierce as the storm around us.

Time slows.

Wolfe’s world is ending. He just doesn’t know it yet.

Three …

His grip on my throat loosens just slightly, his focus shifting to the advancing team.

Two …

I take a breath, drawing in as much air as I can, feeling my lungs expand painfully. I shift my weight, my body moving on instinct.

One …

With every ounce of strength I possess, I twist in Wolfe’s grasp, jerking to the side. The letter opener flashes in my hand, and I plunge it into his side, the blade sinking deep between his ribs.

He screams, a sound of pure shock and agony. His grip slackens, his arm falling away from my throat.

I pull the blade out and drive it in again, this time aiming higher. His eyes go wide, disbelief etched across his features as he stumbles back, his hand going to the wound, blood spilling between his fingers.

“You…” he gasps, his voice barely a whisper, the words lost in the helicopter’s roar above us.

“I was never yours,” I say, my voice steady, fierce. “Never.”

I take a step back, my chest heaving, the letter opener slick with his blood. Wolfe stumbles, his knees giving way. He crumples to the ground, his eyes still wide, staring up at me as the life drains from them.

The helicopter hovers above, its blades whipping the air into a frenzy. I take another step back, feeling the weight of everything crash down on me—fear, adrenaline, relief.

Blaze reaches me, his hands closing around my arms, pulling me away from Wolfe’s lifeless form.

His head tilts ever so slightly, the dark visor fixed on me as if he can see straight into my soul. “Ember,” he breathes, his voice rough, threaded with raw emotion—concern and barely restrained fury intertwined.

I nod, the adrenaline ebbing, leaving only exhaustion in its wake. “I’m okay,” I manage, my voice cracking. “I had to… I couldn’t let him…”

Blaze pulls me into his chest, his arms wrapping around me, holding me tight. “I know,” he whispers into my hair. “It’s over. You did it. You ended it.”

Behind us, the Rufis circle Wolfe’s body, their red targeting lasers dimming. The helicopter ascends, realizing there’s no extraction left for their employer.

Wolfe is gone.

His empire is ash.

And I’m free.

Together, we turn away from the roof’s edge.

Blaze’s team fans out across the roof. Jenny barks orders, her voice carrying over the dying chaos. Mac and Brett sweep the perimeter, their movements precise despite exhaustion.

“Clear,” Mac calls out, blood still seeping from his wounds.

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.