Page 2 of Ember Rising

“It’s not because anyone is suspicious of you,” Evander says. “Everyone will be questioned individually. Even me and Olin. We have a lot of intel and the best way to get it is to interview everyone individually while the information is still fresh.”

The steady rumble of an engine gets louder as whatever’s towing us picks up speed, forcing me to put a hand on the wall to steady myself.

“Then what?” Briar asks. “After we’re all questioned?”

Evander’s brows drop a fraction. “I’m not sure. I’ve been on assignment for more than two years. But if any of you have issues once we get there, ask for me.”

He still has cuts healing on his face, and a large gash on one arm that Ellison stitched up on the island. It hasn’t even been two weeks since he was found nearly dead on our island’s shore after Marcus convinced the soldiers from Island Three to send him there. He was tortured by Ingrid Voss, the Island Three leader, when his cover was blown.

I went to visit him a few times while he was recovering, but he never said anything. I just sat in a chair while he slept. Ellison privately told me that when she cleaned the large wound on his arm, she found evidence that salt, alcohol, and urine were deliberately put inside his wound, and also one on his back.

The sub stops moving, and I mentally brace myself. Briar is a warrior. She’s not fearless, but she faces hard things even when she’s afraid. I want to be worthy of being her best friend, so I need to seem brave, even though I’m shaking inside.

I’ve survived when the odds were against me—more than once. I’ll do it again. I’m not alone anymore. Now I have Briar, and Marcus too. I think Olin, Pax, and Evander could become trusted friends, but I don’t know any of them well enough to say for sure yet. I trusted Niran and Stella, and I was wrong about them.

The sub jolts slightly.

“We’re docking,” Marcus says.

I put my quiver on and wrap my left hand around the grip of my bow, the ironwood worn into the shape of my fingers after months of use. It took me three days to tiller this bow until it bent true; it may not be fit for a competition, but it’s special to me.

The door of the sub opens upward, revealing half a dozen people with heavy-duty guns pointed at us.

“What the fuck?” Pax says.

“Keep cool and do what they say,” Evander tells him. “We haven’t been cleared.”

With Evander and Olin being ILF members, I didn’t think we’d be greeted at gunpoint, like enemies. I hate that this ILF-owned sub was our only way of getting off the island while staying together.

Evander steps off the sub first, Pax following. Olin goes next, and I follow him. Evander extends a hand to help me bridge the gap between the sub and a concrete dock.

Mangroves tangle in most of the water around the dock, a section cleared away to make way for boats. Flat sections of open water are carpeted in green scum. In the distance, a chain-link fence is mangled in several places, mostly overtaken by vegetation.

What was once Corpus Christi must be underwater now. They had to tow us north to reach dry land.

“Give me your weapon,” a man tells me through the small mouth opening in his bulletproof helmet.

He’s giving mediocre white man on a power trip vibes with the gear and commanding tone. Definitely a former low-level security guard living his dream of wielding a machine gun.

“You think I’m going to try to shoot arrows at people pointing guns at me?”

“Give me your weapon,” he repeats.

I narrow my eyes at him. “You can take the arrows, but not the bow.”

More people clad in black carrying machine guns appear, all the weapons trained on me.

“No weapons allowed,” the man says.

“Amira, give it to him,” Briar says from behind me.

We’ve only been here for thirty seconds, and this place is already bullshit. Reluctantly, I pass the masked man my bow.

“It’s not even strung,” I grumble. “Don’t lean it against a wall or put it in air-conditioning. It needs to stay outside.”

“Where’s the string?” he demands.

“In my pocket.”