Page 87 of Rescuing Ember

Time dragsin the silence that follows Wolfe’s departure, each minute stretching into what feels like an eternity. The air in the room grows colder and heavier as the hours pass, an oppressive weight pressing down on me.

Shadows creep closer, twisting across the walls like specters. Wolfe’s absence only sharpens the sense of dread, the foreboding seeping into my bones, tightening around my chest like an icy vise.

I shift my position against the wall, sore muscles protesting, my mind racing over what Wolfe might do next. The unknown is worse than the pain, and each possible scenario is more twisted than the last. The cold seeps into my skin, and I force myself to focus, to stay sharp, even as exhaustion threatens to drag me under.

The door creaks open again, breaking the unbearable quiet. Wolfe saunters back in, his expression unreadable, but an air of satisfaction clings to him, a dark aura that makes my skin prickle. This time, he holds a manila folder. The way he carries it, so casual yet deliberate, sends a chill racing down my spine.

My stomach twists as he drops it on the table with a soft thud, the sound reverberating through the room like a warning, a prelude to something far worse. The silence that follows is thick, the tension almost suffocating as he lets the moment stretch, drawing the fear out of me like venom from a wound.

“You know,” he begins, flipping the folder open, his voice deceptively light, “I’ve always prided myself on reading people. It’s a valuable skill in my line of work.”

His fingers trail over the papers inside, a predatory smile playing at his lips. Something about the way he touches the documents, as if he’s savoring a secret, makes my blood run cold.

“And what I’m reading between you and our dear Mr. Hawkins is—fascinating.”

My throat tightens, but I force out a laugh. “What, that he’s got a hero complex? Hate to break it to you, but that’s not breaking news.”

Wolfe’s eyes flick up to meet mine, sharp and knowing, and I can see the amusement dancing there, dark and twisted. He’s enjoying this—drawing out my fear, watching me squirm. He leans in slightly, his presence filling the space between us, suffocating.

“Oh, it goes far beyond that. The way he looks at you, the risks he’s taken—for you. It’s more than duty. It’s personal.”

He pulls out a photo and turns it toward me. It’s grainy, clearly taken from a security camera, but unmistakable: Blaze and me at the safe house. He cupping my cheek, our faces close, the tension between us palpable even in the image. My chest tightens, the memory resurfacing with painful clarity.

“Care to explain this?” Wolfe’s voice slips through the air, barely above a whisper, yet it cuts like a blade. The softness of his tone is deceptive, laced with a quiet menace that sends a chill down my spine. There’s no need for him to raise his voice—he knows the threat is already understood.

I swallow hard, willing my face to remain impassive. The urge to react, to lash out or deny, simmers beneath the surface, but I bury it deep. I can’t let him see.

“What’s to explain? You said it yourself—hero complex. He was just doing his job.”

“Was he?” Wolfe leans in closer, his cologne suffocating in the small space, the scent sickly sweet and overwhelming. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like Blaze Hawkins, the unshakeable operative, has developed quite the—attachment to my little flame.”

The words drip with possession. My stomach churns, a wave of nausea rising as the words linger in the air.

My little flame.

I grit my teeth, the words crawling under my skin, igniting a slow burn of anger. I clench my fists, nails biting into my palms, the sting grounding me, keeping me from losing control.

“You’re reaching,” I mutter, but even I can hear the weakness in my voice, the trembling edge I don’t mean to show.

“Am I?” Wolfe pulls out another photo. This one shows Blaze carrying me out of the warehouse, his face a mask of fierce determination. “He’s compromised, and you know it. That makes you a liability.”

Memories flood back—the warmth of Blaze’s arms around me, the intensity in his eyes, the way my heart races when he’s near. I swallow hard, forcing the emotions down, locking them away deep where Wolfe can’t reach them.

I keep my face blank, my expression empty. I won’t give him any ammunition to use against me. I take a slow breath, steadying myself, and let my eyes meet Wolfe’s, cold and defiant.

“You think you know everything,” I say, voice steady, even, “but you don’t know me. As for him? He’s got a thing for saving strays. Congratulations, you’ve cracked the code. You deserve a prize.”

Wolfe chuckles, the sound low and sinister, reverberating through the small room, sending chills down my spine.

“Oh, my dear. It’s not his feelings I’m interested in.” He leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, his breath ghosting over my ear. “It’s yours.”

The words hit like a physical blow. I open my mouth to deny it, to laugh it off, but nothing comes out. Because deep down, in a place I’ve been desperately trying to ignore, he’s right. That terrifies me more than anything else in this godforsaken room because Wolfe has a weapon.

And he knows it.

Wolfe’s words echo in my ears, a relentless drumbeat of truth I can’t escape. The room fades away, and suddenly, I’m back in that safe house, Blaze’s arms around me, his breath warm on my cheek.

“You’re safe now,”he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.“I’ve got you.”

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