Page 70 of Rescuing Ember

I reach out, cupping her face in my hand. “Not stupid at all. You found beauty and hope in the darkest places. That’s incredible.”

She leans into my touch, her eyes meeting mine. There’s a vulnerability there I’ve never seen before.

“You think so?”

“I know so,” I say firmly. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

Ember’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears. She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can speak, heavy footsteps on the stairs shatter our peaceful moment. Voices drift up, angry and all too familiar.

“I’m tellin’ ya’, they were here. Gimme some more cash, and I’ll show ya’ exactly where.” The drunk from last night. And he’s not alone.

“They better be, you useless drunk. Or you’ll be joining them when we find them.”

Beside me, Ember gasps.

“That’s Bruiser.” Her whisper is barely audible, but the fear in her voice is palpable.

TWENTY-FOUR

Blaze

Ember’s gaspsends ice through my veins. “That’s Bruiser.”

No time to think. I grab Ember’s hand, pulling her toward the window. The old frame groans as I force it open, rust flaking off in my palm.

“Fire escape.” I help Ember through.

Ember slips out first, her movements fluid and practiced. A lifetime on the streets has made her nimble.

I follow, not nearly as agile due to my large stature.

The metal grating groans beneath our feet, betraying our position.

We’re halfway down when a shout erupts from above.

“There they are.” A shout from inside follows heavy footsteps approaching.

“Move.”

We scramble down the rickety structure, each step threatening to give way.

The harsh crack of gunfire shatters the pre-dawn quiet. A bullet whizzes past. It ricochets off the railing with aping!inches from my head.

The pungent stench of rotting garbage wafts up from the alley below, mixing with the

Steel-like sharpness of rusted iron.

“Move. Move. Move!” I shout at Ember, but she’s already scrambling down the last ladder.

We hit the alley running. Shouts echo above. Heavy footfalls on the fire escape grow louder. My lungs burn, legs pumping as we weave through a maze of dumpsters and discarded cardboard. Sweat trickles down my back, making my shirt cling to my skin.

Ember tugs my arm, pointing. “Subway entrance.”

We sprint across the street, horns blaring as we dodge early morning traffic. The subway stairs loom before us, a potential route of safety in the urban jungle.

Or a dead end.

We plunge down the steps, harsh fluorescent light assaulting our eyes after the dim alley. The turnstiles block our path, a barrier between us and escape.

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