Page 9

NINE

Ember

“Aria, please.” I try one last time, holding the candle close to her cell. The flame reflects in her glassy eyes, twin pools of despair. “I need you with me. Whatever’s coming, we face it together. Remember who you are. Remember Moxie.”

For a heartbeat, there’s a flicker of life in those haunted eyes. A spark of the fierce woman I glimpsed on that fateful street corner. Then it’s gone, snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

But wait—did her fingers twitch? The barest movement, so slight I might have imagined it.

But it’s something. A sign that Aria’s still in there, fighting her way back.

“That’s it,” I whisper encouragement and push away the desperation in my voice. “Come on, Aria. Fight. We’re getting out of here, I promise. Just stay with me.”

A sound from outside freezes the words in my throat. Faint but growing. Not the usual city noise. Something—purposeful. Engines? But not the rumble of traffic. This is different. Focused.

The guards tense, hands on weapons. Urgent whispers, too low to make out. But their fear is palpable, filling the air like poisonous gas.

Bruiser stalks over to my cell, face twisted in a snarl. “What did you do?” he growls, meaty fist slamming against the chain-link. The whole structure shudders with the impact.

“From inside this cell?” I snap back, fear making me reckless. “You think I stuck my thumb in my butt and magically called in the cavalry?”

His eyes narrow, searching for any sign of deception. For a heart-stopping moment, I think he’s going to open the cell and deliver another brutal “lesson,” but then Soft Eyes calls out, voice tight with panic.

“Boss wants us up front. Now.”

Bruiser hesitates, clearly torn between his suspicion and his orders. “This isn’t over, street rat.” Finally, with a last poisonous glare, he turns away.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, I turn to Daniel. “Any idea what’s going on?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he replies, voice barely above a whisper. “But whatever it is, it’s got them scared, and that can’t be good for us.”

He’s right. Scared people make desperate choices, and we’re the most expendable pieces in this sick game.

I force myself to breathe. To think. Whatever happens next, I need to be ready. To grab any chance, no matter how slim.

My gaze darts around the cell, cataloging everything anew, this time looking for weapons. The bucket in the corner could be used as a blunt instrument, but it’s too unwieldy. The chain-link fencing is too strong. The blanket has been far too intimate, with far too many filthy bodies to be worth sacrificing.

But it can burn.

I grab the candle, feeling its weight.

“Daniel,” I whisper urgently. “If something happens—if there’s a chance—you take it, understand? Don’t wait for us. Just go.”

“What? No, I can’t just?—”

“Yes, you can,” I cut him off. “Aria’s the priority. The rest of us… We’re collateral damage. You get out, you get help. Clear?”

If I can get the kids out, I can get them to safety. Daniel’s too big. Aria questionably so. I’m still small enough to fit into those dead places no one else would ever go.

Daniel falls silent for a long moment. Then, so quietly I almost miss it, he responds. “Clear.”

And then …

Chaos.

Explosions rock the building. The concrete floor trembles beneath us. The chain-link rattles and dust and debris rain down from the ceiling. For one terrifying moment, I think the whole place is going to come down on top of us.

Gunfire, sharp and relentless, shatters the night. It’s everywhere—outside, inside, a storm of lead and muzzle flashes. Screams and shouts blend into a cacophony of terror and confusion.

Something’s burning. Smoke burns my lungs and my eyes. I can’t see, can’t breathe.

A massive shape looms out of the chaos. Bruiser, face twisted in a mask of rage and fear. My cell door hangs open—when did that happen?

“You’re coming with me, street rat.” He snarls at me, and his meaty hand closes around my arm. His grip is like iron, hard and bruising.

I struggle, kicking and clawing.

Where’s Aria?

She’s gone, swallowed by the darkness and the storm of violence that’s descended upon us all. All I can see is smoke. All I can hear is gunfire and screams.

Bruiser drags me toward the back of the warehouse. Away from the sounds of fighting, away from any hope of rescue.

No. This can’t be how it ends. Not after everything.

As we pass a stack of crates, I see my chance. I let myself go limp, dead weight in Bruiser’s grip. He grunts, adjusting his hold. That split second is all I need.

I drive my elbow back, years of street fighting taking over. A satisfying crunch as it connects with his nose. His grip loosens, just for a moment.

But a moment is all I need.

I twist free, adrenaline lending me strength I didn’t know I had. Bruiser roars in pain and rage, lunging for me.

But I’m smaller, faster.

I dodge, and his momentum carries him into the stack of crates. They come crashing down, burying him in an avalanche of splintering wood. As long as he doesn’t get a grip on me…

I don’t wait to see if he gets up.

I run.

Smoke fills my lungs as I sprint through the chaos. Gunfire and screams echo from every direction, disorienting in the haze. I have to find the kids. Have to find Aria.

Gunshots ring out, closer now. A bullet whizzes past my head, so close I feel the air part. I dive, taking cover behind a rusted piece of machinery.

My heart pounds, blood roaring in my ears. This is it. After everything—the streets, the struggle, this nightmare—this is how it ends?

Alone in the dark, gunned down like a dog.

A shape looms through the smoke. Another guard, this one armed with a rifle. Before I can change direction, the butt of his weapon slams into my stomach. I double over, gasping.

More hands grab me. Two guards this time, dragging me toward another set of cages on the far side of the warehouse. I fight, but my earlier escape took too much out of me. They quickly bind my hands with a Zip Tie, then throw me into an empty cell, the lock clicking with brutal finality.

“Stay put this time, bitch,” one snarls, slamming the door.

I curl into the corner, ribs screaming from the fresh assault. The smoke thickens, and through it, a shape emerges from the smoke.

Tall, broad-shouldered, moving with deadly purpose. For a moment, my heart stops. Another guard? The boss himself, come to finish me off?

But no. The gear is all wrong. This is something else entirely.

The figure emerges from the smoke like a demon straight out of hell. Taller than tall, broader than broad, a mountain of a man encased in sleek, matte-black armor that seems to absorb the very light around it.

Every inch is covered—no exposed skin, no hint of the human beneath. The helmet is a featureless dome, save for a reflective visor that glows with an eerie blue light.

Weapons bristle from every angle. A rifle that looks like it could punch through tank armor held at the ready. Pistols strapped to thighs. The hilts of knives peeking out from boots and shoulder harnesses. Even the knuckles of the gloves seem reinforced, ready to shatter bone.

This isn’t a person. This is a walking arsenal. A juggernaut of destruction.

And he’s not alone.

More figures materialize from the chaos, each a mirror image of lethal intent. They move with a fluid grace that belies their size, covering angles and checking corners with practiced precision. They are a team, a unit, something far beyond the usual thugs and criminals I’ve encountered.

The first figure—their leader?—turns, and even though I can’t see his eyes behind that glowing visor, I feel the weight of his gaze like a physical thing. It pins me in place and strips away every defense and every lie I’ve ever told myself.

I feel more exposed than I ever have in my life.

He speaks, and his voice is a low rumble that I feel in my chest more than hear, but the words aren’t for me.

“Target acquired. Secondary package located. Moving to extract.”

The thought barely finishes forming when a low, mechanical whir cuts through the chaos. A sleek, black shape detaches itself from the shadows behind the armored figure. For a surreal moment, I think my addled brain has conjured the Rottweiler from my imagination.

But this is no dog.

At least, no dog I’ve ever seen.

The thing moves with an unsettling fluidity, more machine than animal. Its body is a streamlined chassis of matte-black metal, articulated legs ending in rubberized pads that grip the debris-strewn floor with eerie silence. Where a real dog’s head would be, this thing sports an array of sensors and what looks unsettlingly like weapon mounts.

A robotic dog. Because apparently, this situation isn’t sci-fi enough already.

The mechanical hound pads up beside the armored giant, its head swiveling toward me. I feel it scanning me, assessing threat levels, and cataloging weaknesses. My heart, already racing, kicks into overdrive. If I thought I was outmatched before…

The armored figure doesn’t even acknowledge the robotic companion. As if having a weaponized robo-dog at his side is the most normal thing in the world.

I tense, muscles coiled, ready to spring in any direction. Flight or fight, the age-old dance of survival. But then he does something so unexpected, so utterly at odds with his terrifying appearance, that it stops me cold.