“She won’t be,” Wraith interrupts, voice low and certain. “Not with me.”
The words land heavy. Ember glances over her shoulder, eyes locking with his. Something passes between them—silent, dangerous.
Vale laughs under his breath. “Now this is getting interesting.”
“Shut up,” I snap.
He grins wider, raising his hands. “Just saying. I love a good domestic.”
Ash looks between us all, his restraint thinning. “She’s not ready,” he says again, quieter now. “She doesn’t know what’s waiting out there.”
Finally, Ember turns. Her gaze is calm, too calm. “You don’t think I can handle myself?”
Ash doesn’t flinch as he tells her the truth. “I think you’ve been lucky so far.”
The hurt flashes in her eyes before she hides it behind that steel composure. I can feel the temperature in the room drop. The fog outside presses closer to the windows, the air thick with the smell of wet pavement and tension. “Enough,” I say, the word echoing harder than I mean it to.
Silence settles—uneasy, expectant.
“She goes,” I continue. “Tonight. Wraith and Saint will take her. It’s recon only—nothing more. If she passes, she earns her place.”
“Herplace?” Vale echoes, tilting his head with mock reverence. “What are we calling her now, boss?Queen of the damned?”
I ignore him.
“She’ll have limited freedom after this,” I say instead. “She’s proven herself useful. But I’m not handing her a crown yet.”
Ember’s brow lifts, and the faintest hint of challenge crosses her lips. “And if I fail?”
“Then you prove me right,” I say, though the words are bitter on my tongue.
“And if I don’t?” She asks, smirking in amusement.
I shrug, like this costs me nothing. “Then you prove me wrong.”
Her mouth curves into something sharp—almost a smile. “Sounds like you’re betting against yourself.”
Vale chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea how right you are.”
Saint pushes his chair back with a sigh, the scrape of wood on tile cutting through the tension. “If we’re truly doing this, I’ll make the arrangements.”
“Do it quietly,” I tell him. “I want no eyes on us until we know what we’re walking into.”
He nods, already moving.
Wraith straightens, jaw tight as he lowers his voice a fraction. “You sure you trust me to take her out there?”
“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be saying this out loud,” I answer plainly.
His eyes flash—pride, maybe something darker—and he nods. Ash says nothing. But the way he looks at Ember—conflicted, almost haunted—says everything. The others start to disperse, chairs scraping, boots echoing down the hall.
I stay behind.
Ember doesn’t move. She lingers at the table, tracing a finger along the edge of a knife Vale left behind, her expression caught somewhere between defiance and curiosity. “You didn’t have to defend me,” she says softly.
“I wasn’t defending you.”
She looks up, lips curling. “Could’ve fooled me.”
