Page 122 of Ember Rising

There’s another door, and we wait while Corwin says, “Oriole requesting permission to exit at access point fifteen.”

All three of us have earpieces with the same connection to an operator in a communications room back at the hub. A few seconds pass, Marcus furrowing his brow with concern.

“Oriole, you are clear for access at point fifteen. It’s open.”

Our operator is Veronica. She has access to hacked New America camera feeds all over the city.

Corwin eases the door open, waving us through. The door leads outside to an alley behind a large building. There’s no handle on the door, and when Corwin closes it, the edges of the door disappear into the spaces between the concrete blocks the building is made from.

If I didn’t know there was a door there, I wouldn’t have a clue it existed. It blends in perfectly.

“Oriole, we’re out.”

“I have eyes on you, Oriole. Door is sealed; you’re clear to move.”

I lock eyes with Marcus. I feel like we’re in a spy movie.

The air still holds the smoky scent of a campfire, and flakes of gray ash still swirl. It’s not as bad as before, but it’s still enough to make my eyes burn.

“Three tenths of a mile,” Corwin reminds us. “No visible weapons—even if Sores are pointing guns at us.”

The ILF Carson City people call Soren Whitman’s soldiers “sores”—a mashup of “Soren” and “whores.” Works for me.

“We know,” Marcus bites back. “Let’s go.”

I’m supposed to walk between the two men, because one of the ILF analysts said that will make us appear less threatening. I take my place in the middle and Marcus takes my arm.

We’re supposed to make it look like I’m having so much trouble seeing that I need help walking. When we emerge from behind the building, there are more people than I expected.

There are people walking, some pushing rolling carts loaded up with groceries. Soldiers stand on corners, scanning the streets and sidewalk.

Whitman doesn’t allow cars in New America. He says it’s for environmental reasons, which is laughable since wildfires are literally burning a massive hole in the ozone layer. Really, it’s because cars would give regular people freedom he doesn’t want them to have. It would be easier to pack up and leave.

My pulse races as we get closer. Corwin rounds a corner, and we walk into an alley. We reach a plain gray steel door with black letters reading “The Hair Emporium.”

“Oriole, we’re in place,” he says softly.

“Oriole, this is base. A guard went into the shampoo room with her. Abort mission and return to base.”

No. I turn to Marcus, knowing he can read my feelings just from my eyes.

“Sorry,” Corwin whispers.

“I’m going in,” I say. “I can handle one guard.”

“No. Even if you can, a dead guard would bring Sores swarming.”

“I can make it look like he died of natural causes.”

Corwin scoffs. “Okay, commando. Let’s go.”

He puts his hand on my back to steer me away from the door, and Marcus pins him to the building’s back wall by his arms.

“Don’t touch her,” he says gruffly.

“I’m going,” I tell Marcus, who just nods.

“You’ve been ordered to abort,” Veronica says through the headpiece.