Page 10 of Rescuing Ember

Fate has no mercy.

A rough hand grabs my arm, yanking me forward.

“Move it,” Twitch snarls.

As they drag us from the van, my mind races. I know this building. Its hidden corners, its secret passages. Somehow, that’s got to count in my favor. A flicker of hope ignites in my chest for the first time since this nightmare began.

We may have a chance after all.

FOUR

Ember

Warehouse of Horrors

Rough hands shove me forward.I stumble, knees scraping against the ragged metal bumper of the van. Uneven concrete beneath my feet makes me stumble.

The warehouse looms around us, a monolithic structure of rust and shadows. Shafts of dying sunlight filter through broken windows, casting a ghostly light on the swirling dust—like the remnants of something long dead. Scattered pigeon feathers drift lazily in the still air, abandoned, like the echoes of life that once filled this place.

The stench hits me first. Mold and rat droppings. Stale sweat and fear. My stomach churns.

This used to be my home—days I’d rather forget—nights that will haunt me for the rest of my life.

Memories flood back, unwelcome and sharp—a scared preteen girl huddling in corners, trying to stay warm. Theconstant gnaw of hunger. The desperation that led me to trade my body for a fix, to numb the pain of existence. And the crushing loneliness, always present, reminding me that no one was coming to save me.

I remember the first time I had to run.

A gang of older boys, eyes gleaming with cruelty, chased me through the labyrinth of rusted machinery. Heart pounding, lungs burning, I squeezed through a small gap in the wall. They were too big to follow. I spent that night curled in a forgotten air duct, shivering and watchful.

But I learned. Oh, how I learned.

I mapped every inch of this decaying kingdom. I found forgotten places and hidden nooks where even the rats didn’t venture. When you’re small and scared, you learn to become invisible.

Most of the time, I got away. The times I didn’t… well, those taught me to fight dirty, to bite and claw, and never give up because giving up meant not seeing another sunrise.

I learned to read people here. To spot the ones who’d hurt me and the rare few who might show a shred of kindness. It was a tightrope walk between trust and suspicion, with a long fall on either side.

The despair was a constant companion. Some nights, curled up on bare concrete with an empty belly and track marks on my arms, I wondered if it wouldn’t be easier to just—let go. To close my eyes and drift away on a chemical tide.

But something in me refused to break. Maybe it was spite. Maybe it was hope. Maybe it was sheer survival instinct. Whatever it was, it kept me breathing, kept me fighting, even when every breath felt like gargling glass.

Now I’m back, no longer that lost girl, but just as trapped. The irony isn’t lost on me. I clawed my way out of this hell once before. I’ll be damned if I don’t do it again.

“Move it.” A meaty hand clamps down on my shoulder, propelling me deeper into the gloom.

I straighten my spine, lifting my chin. They might have me in chains, but my spirit was forged in the fires of survival. Whatever comes next, I’ll face it head-on.

Because that’s what I do.

I survive.

Aria whimpers behind me. I strain to look back, but a sharp jab between my shoulder blades keeps me facing forward.

We weave through a maze of abandoned machinery and fallen iron beams. The space seems endless, stretching into darkness. Water drips in the distance, a steady rhythm like a broken metronome.

Plip. Plip. Plip.

A rat skitters across our path. Aria lets out a strangled yelp.

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