Page 29 of Ember Rising

“Thanks.”

I don’t know what sort of training this is going to be, so I wore black leggings, a fitted black camisole and a purple T-shirt that says, “Vegan AF.”

I’m not vegan, but I could tell it was a comfortable T-shirt, so I grabbed it when I was in the clothing warehouse.

Double doors lead into the room I was directed to, and when I walk inside, I see it’s a small gymnasium with a half basketball court. Evander is standing in a corner, his feet moving quickly as he makes his way around a heavy punching bag. He’s wearing gray athletic shorts and tennis shoes, his T-shirt in a puddle on the floor nearby.

I just watch him for a few seconds, not announcing myself. Sweat glistens on his dark skin, running into the valleys made by defined muscles on his abs, back, shoulders, and arms. I had no idea how cut he was. His arms and shoulders were obviously strong, but his chest and abs ...

“You gonna just stand there? You’re already late.”

I scoff dismissively. “Directions would have been helpful. And you’re hitting that bag like it insulted your mom’s cooking, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

He uses his forearm to mop sweat from his face, pulling off one of his boxing gloves.

“Just killing time while I waited for you.”

His annoyance is baked into his tone. I’ve been here for ten seconds, and he’s already made two comments about my lateness.

“Well, I’m here now. What do you need from me?”

He faces me, arching his brow in amusement as he unwraps what looks like a long bandage from one of his hands. It must be what protects his knuckles when he’s punishing the bag with his fists.

“We’ve never worked together. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover.”

“Okay. Let’s do it.”

He takes off the other wrap, tossing both to the floor and picking up his T-shirt, putting it on as he walks over to me. As soon as the shirt touches his skin, sweat soaks through the fabric.

“We’ll get cover identities this afternoon.”

I smile, amused. “Like spies?”

“Kind of. We won’t use our real names—not even when we’re alone.”

I wonder if Marcus and Briar got secret identities. When Marcus met Evander on Island Three, he was going by the name Tyrone.

“Okay,” I say.

“I need to know what skills you have. Anything that could help us in the field.”

“Archery.”

He nods. “What else?”

I shrug. “Briar taught me some hand-to-hand stuff. And aromium makes me faster and stronger than most people.”

“Are you good at climbing?”

“More like average.”

“Afraid of heights?”

I shake my head. “Not really.”

He studies me for a few seconds, his mahogany eyes mentally assessing me. I look away, unnerved by his silent, undivided attention.

“What’s your nationality?”