She’s brave and young and impossibly stubborn. She sees through every defense I’ve built. Makes me want things I gave up on decades ago.
And I’m falling for her despite every reason I shouldn’t. Because of them.
I follow her into the forest. Watch the way she moves; confident despite exhaustion, brave despite everything.
Eight hours until extraction.
Eight hours alone with her, wanting what I can’t have. What I shouldn’t take.
What she’s already offered, and I was too much of a coward to accept.
I catch up to her in three strides. When she glances back, something in my expression makes her breath catch. Makes her eyes darken.
Good. Let her see it. Let her know this isn’t over.
“Stay close,” I say, my voice gruff with what I’m about to say. “And Ember?”
“Yeah?”
I hold her eyes. Let her see past the handler, past the operative, past hundreds of years of discipline. Just for a second. Just long enough.
“We’re not done talking about this.”
Color floods her cheeks. Her lips part. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
We move into the trees. Into cold morning and whatever comes next.
But the heat between us follows. Unresolved. Undeniable.
Eight hours suddenly feels like forever and not nearly long enough.
Chapter 21
Ember
Once again, we’re hiking through dense forest, this time, following the secondary extraction coordinates Hargen sent. My overwrought muscles burn with each step as I navigate the rugged terrain: steep inclines, fallen logs, and patches of snow that make my already unsteady footing treacherous. Despite my exhaustion, I keep pushing forward.
Luke sets a measured pace ahead of me, occasionally glancing back to check that I’m still following. The tension from the cabin hangs between us: words unsaid, the intimacy interrupted, the argument unresolved. We speak only when necessary.
“Watch the drop,” he warns as we approach a steep decline.
Later, “Water break in five.”
I nod mechanically, conserving energy.
After what feels like forever, Luke pauses at a ridge to check our position. “We’re nearly at the extraction point,” he says, studying his GPS unit. “Aurora pickup is scheduled for thisafternoon. That gives us time to rest before the helo arrives.” He tucks the device away. “Should be straightforward. Safe.”
I nod along, but my mind is elsewhere. The word “safe” echoes hollowly.
The content of Hargen’s message won’t leave me alone: Syndicate forces converging on the tomb. Hybrid identification protocols imminent.
By the time Aurora mobilizes a proper response, the ritual could be complete. Other hybrids—people like me who’ve been hiding their whole lives—will be exposed. Hunted. Killed. Because I didn’t do anything to help.
How many families are going into hiding right now?
How many will die before the Aurora Collective can stop it?
