Page 17 of Rescuing Ember

Shadows and Whispers

Aria’s muffledsobs slice through the darkness, yanking me from fitful sleep. My eyes snap open, heart racing. For a moment, I forget where I am. Then, the cold concrete beneath me, and the stench of fear and desperation brings it all crashing back.

Rain pounds the metal roof far overhead, its relentless rhythm punctuated by the occasional groan of rusting beams. The sound used to be comforting, back when this warehouse was just a shelter from the streets. Now, it’s a dire reminder of our isolation, of how far removed we are from help.

A shiver wracks my body. The cold seeps through my threadbare clothes, settling deep in my bones. At least it’s above freezing. Small mercies.

Reality is a cruel bitch.

I push myself up, ignoring the protest of bruised muscles. Across the warehouse, Aria’s huddled form trembles in her cell. The urge to comfort her claws at my chest, but the chain-link fencing between us might as well be a fortress wall.

“Aria,” I whisper, my throat tight. My words barely cut through the steadydrip, drip, dripof water echoing from the darkness. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m right here.”

My heart pounds in the silence, each breath shallow as I reach out. My fingers tremble against the cold metal of the fence.

Aria’s sobs quiet, but she doesn’t look up. She probably thinks I’m just another nightmare. Frustration bubbles in my chest. She’s so soft, so unprepared. Her panic is going to get us killed if she doesn’t learn to shut it down.

The scurrying of tiny claws across concrete sets my teeth on edge. Rats. I scan the shadows, half-expecting to see their beady eyes glinting in the darkness.

A memory surfaces—me, younger and more naïve, thinking the furry creatures were cute. Until that night when I woke to searing pain, their sharp teeth nibbling at my flesh. The scars have faded, but the disgust lingers.

Movement catches my eye. Two guards, silhouettes in the dim light, exchange hushed words by the main entrance. One nods, his shoulders slumping with exhaustion as he heads for the door. The other takes up position, watching over us, a rifle cradled in his arms.

My brain kicks into overdrive, cataloging details. This is the third shift change I’ve seen. Always on the hour. Always one guard watching the exit, one guard watching the cells. The warehouse layout unfolds in my mind, a maze of rusty metal and crumbling concrete. I used to know every nook and cranny and every hiding spot, but it’s been years.

The catwalk where Jessie and I would perch, watching for cops or rival gangs, is still there—far overhead. The old officewhere we huddled on cold nights, sharing body heat and whispered dreams of better lives. The loading dock where the older boys…

I push that memory away, focusing on the present.

A door creaks open, spilling harsh fluorescent light across the floor. Soft Eyes enters, steam rising from the tray in his hands. His gaze sweeps the room, lingering on each occupied cell. When he reaches mine, something flickers behind his eyes.

Hesitation? Guilt? Regret, maybe? It’s fleeting, gone as quickly as it appears, but I catch it—just enough to make me wonder.

I push myself to my feet as he approaches, ignoring the protest of bruised muscles. “Morning, sunshine,” I rasp, mustering a wry smile. “What’s on the menu today? Gruel with a side of crushing despair?”

Soft Eyes’ lips twitch, almost a smile. “Oatmeal,” he mutters, sliding a bowl through the slot in the fencing. “And water.”

Steam curls from the bowl, carrying the faintest hint of cinnamon. My stomach clenches, a painful reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve eaten. I inch closer, keeping my movements slow and deliberate.

“Hey, thanks for taking such good care of us.” My tone drips sarcasm, but I soften it with a conspiratorial wink. “Must be a real fulfilling job, huh?”

He stiffens, eyes darting to the other guard. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple despite the chill.

“Just eat,” he hisses, but there’s no real venom in it.

“Aww, what’s wrong? Not feeling chatty today?” I press, desperate for any scrap of information. My heart pounds, knowing I’m pushing my luck. “C’mon, I’m dying for some good conver?—”

A shadow falls over us. The temperature plummets, ice crystallizing in my veins.

A meaty hand clamps down on Soft Eyes’ shoulder, yanking him back with brutal force. Bruiser looms over us both, his scarred face twisted into a snarl that promises violence. The fluorescent lights cast deep shadows across his features, transforming him into a nightmare-made flesh.

There’s something about him…

“Getting friendly with the merchandise again?” Bruiser’s voice is a guttural growl. He shoves Soft Eyes against the chain-link fence, the metal rattling ominously. “You know the rules.”

Soft Eyes’ face drains of color. “I wasn’t—I didn’t touch.”

“Save it,” Bruiser spits. His fingers dig into Soft Eyes’ throat. “One more slip-up and you don’t get to play at all. Understood?”

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