Page 30 of Rescuing Ember

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. Theyquickly 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 ofhis gaze like a physical thing. It pins me in place and strips away every defense and every lie I’ve ever told myself.

---