Page 25 of Rescuing Ember

Our battlefield.

Time to get to work and earn our keep.

EIGHT

Ember

The CalmBefore the Storm

A heavy silencefalls over the warehouse, thick and stifling, like the air holds its breath. The usual sounds—the muffled sobs, the clinking of chains, the harsh bark of orders—have all vanished.

Even the rats are still.

Something shifted.

I feel tension in the air, and it clings to my skin, prickling with unease. The hair on my neck stand up, a warning I can’t ignore.

Whatever’s coming, it’s close, and that’s not good.

My attention shifts to the guards. Jaws clenched, their hands hover near their weapons. They’re on edge, more so than usual.

Bruiser paces near the main entrance, his massive frame coiled tight like a spring about to snap. Soft Eyes—the younger one with a hint of humanity until I realized he is a pedophile—keeps glancing at his watch, tension radiating from every movement. And then there’s Twitch—his hands fidgeting, eyes darting around the room like he’s waiting for something to explode, nerves fraying more than usual.

They feel it too.

I shift, wincing as the movement sends jolts of pain through my battered body. Every breath is an effort, ribs protesting from Bruiser’s “lesson” in obedience. The concrete floor has leeched all warmth from my bones, leaving me chilled to the core despite the nervous sweat beading on my brow.

“Aria?” I whisper, my voice barely audible.

No response.

She sits huddled in the corner, knees drawn to her chest, eyes vacant. Lost in some private hell I can’t reach.

I crawl closer, ignoring the screaming protests of my muscles. Up close, the changes in her are even more stark. Her designer clothes are filthy. Her once-perfect hair is matted with grime. Her eyes are dull and empty.

My fingers brush against something in my coat pocket.

Something familiar.

Something tapered and smooth.

A candle.

For a moment, I’m transported back to my tiny apartment. The comforting scent of melting wax. Shelves lined with colorful jars. A dream of something better, of rising above the hand life dealt me.

Now, like everything else, it’s tainted by this nightmare.

Hands shaking, I fumble with my striker. One spark, two, three… The tiny flame sputters to life, casting flickering shadows across my cell. The warm glow feels almost obscene in this place of darkness and despair.

“Aria, look.” I hold the candle up, willing her to focus on something, anything beyond her trauma. “Remember what Itold you about candle magic? How each scent transports you someplace else?”

Her eyes flicker with a ghost of recognition.

“This one’s lavender scented.” Desperation creeps into my voice. “Close your eyes. Imagine a field of purple stretching out as far as you can see. The sun is on your face. The wind is in your hair. You’re safe. Free.”

Nothing. Not even a twitch. It’s like talking to a corpse; the thought sends a chill down my spine. How easy would it be to give up? To retreat into the safety of your mind and never come back?

No. I can’t think like that. I won’t let this place win.

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