Page 2 of Rescuing Ember

“I’m sorry, I don’t have change for?—”

“Keep the change,” he says softly.

I start to protest, but he raises his hand. “Consider it an investment in new beginnings.”

He lights the candle, the flame dancing in the wind. For a moment, the sharp and clean scent of pine fills the air.

“Sometimes,” he says, his eyes reflecting the tiny flame, “all it takes is one spark to change everything.”

A gust extinguishes the flame, and then he’s gone, swallowed by the crowd. I’m left staring at the empty space where he stood, that hundred-dollar bill clutched in my frozen fingers.

I’m just beginning to rearrange my display when a flash of blonde hair catches my eye. A young woman hurries down the sidewalk, her head bowed against the wind. She’s dressed in a designer coat and high heels, her hair perfectly coiffed despite the weather.

I recognize her instantly.

Aria Holbrook, the socialite whose face is always plastered across the gossip pages. What’s she doing in this part of town?

I straighten, forcing a smile onto my chapped lips. “Handmade candles, miss,” I call out, my voice hoarse from the cold. “Perfect for a relaxing bath or a cozy night in.”

Aria glances over, her eyes narrowing as she takes in my appearance. “No, thanks.” Her tone is clipped and dismissive. “I don’t need any candles.”

“Only five dollars.”

Aria sighs, her irritation palpable. “I said no. Now leave me alone.” She quickens her pace, her heels clicking against the sidewalk.

She barely glances at me, her eyes fixed on her phone as she hurries past. I deflate, my shoulders sagging beneath the weight of disappointment. It’s a familiar feeling, but it stings, nonetheless.

Must be nice living a life of luxury like hers.

I’ve been on my own for as long as I can remember. Foster care was a revolving door of temporary homes and false promises, each one chipping away at my hope for a better future.

When I aged out of the system, I found myself adrift in a city that had no place for me, but I refused to give up. I discovered a talent for crafting candles, and it became my lifeline—a way to create something beautiful in a world that had shown me so little kindness.

Suddenly, a dark van screeches to a halt beside Aria. The door slides open, and two men jump out, their faces obscured by ski masks. Before I can even cry out, they grab her, dragging her toward the van.

Aria screams, her designer bag falling to the ground as she struggles against their grip. “Help! Someone help me!”

For a moment, I’m frozen, my mind struggling to process what I’m seeing. This can’t be happening, not here, not in broad daylight. But as Aria’s screams pierce the air, I spring into action.

“Hey!” I shout, my voice raw and desperate. “Let her go.”

I drop the candle I’m holding, barely registering the sound of it shattering on the sidewalk. I lunge forward, my feet slipping on the icy ground as I race toward the van.

People take notice, their heads turning toward the commotion, but no one moves to help.

I reach the van just as the men try to force Aria inside. She’s giving them a run for their money, fierce and tenacious.

I grab onto her arm, pulling with all my strength. “Leave her alone!” I yell, my heart pounding in my ears.

One of the men turns toward me, his eyes cold and hard behind the ski mask. “Stay out of this,” he growls, his voice low and menacing. “This doesn’t concern you.”

But I can’t let go, can’t stand by and watch as they take her. I may not know her, and I may have only seen her face in thepapers, but no one deserves this. I tighten my grip on her arm, my nails digging into the soft wool of her coat.

The other man, still struggling to subdue Aria, curses under his breath. “Knock her out,” he barks at his partner. “We don’t have time for this.”

The first man reaches into his pocket, and I catch a glint of metal. A syringe. My blood runs cold. I open my mouth to scream, to call for help, but before I can make a sound, the man plunges the needle into Aria’s neck.

She goes limp almost instantly, her body sagging in their grip. The men haul her into the van, tossing her like a ragdoll. I’m still clinging to her arm, my fingers numb and useless. The first man turns to me, his eyes narrowing.

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