Page 35 of Ember Rising

We ran out of gas again.

And we’re still alive. The vehicles only chased us for a few miles, but then we had to keep going through pouring rain. I just closed my eyes and hoped for the best, keeping my cheek pressed to Evander’s back.

I didn’t let on how happy I was when we had to leave the motorcycle behind at an abandoned gas station. I feel safer on foot. The sun was starting to set, so we walked a couple of miles to a barn. There’s a hole in the roof, so we’re resting in some loose hay on the side that’s still covered.

“What are we going to do for water?” I ask.

“Find some tomorrow and boil it.” Evander doesn’t look up from the small notebook he’s writing in.

“Why the pencil and paper?” I ask. “The ILF has a satellite, but they couldn’t send us with radios? And you had to guess the latitude of the gas station with your hand.”

He flicks his eyes up from the notebook, and I see a note of alarm there.

“The angle between Polaris and the horizon is latitude,” I say. “But why does it bother you that I know you were checking it?”

He returns his eyes to what he’s writing. “It doesn’t.”

It does. I’ve always been good at reading people, and Evander doesn’t trust me. Actually, it’s even more than that—he distrusts me. I’m already worried about roaming the place I deliberately fled, and every small indication I get that he doesn’t want me to know basic details about this mission ratchets up my fear.

“I’ll go find water tonight,” I say. “While you sleep. I’ll be good with an hour or two.”

“No. We stay together.”

“I can’t just sit here for eight hours and watch you sleep. We need water.”

“I’ll be good with a couple hours. We stay together.”

This bullshit again. We’ve been arguing about sleep since our first night on the road.

“My body doesn’t need as much sleep as yours.”

“So you’ve said.”

His tone grates on my nerves. I take a breath before responding.

“I wouldn’t keep repeating myself if you’d listen. You’re trying to get by on the same amount of sleep as me, and you’re exhausted.”

He huffs an unamused note of laughter, closing the notebook. “I don’t need magic serum to get by on two hours a night. I’ve gotten less sleep than that on ops before.”

“Your eyes were closed when I came back in a few minutes ago.”

“So? They’re tired. I have to look at a dozen different things at a time when I’m driving.”

“Are we in this together?”

He glares at me, getting to his feet. “In what together?”

“This mission. To get to⁠—”

“Don’t.” He barks the word, silencing me.

When he comes over to me, he drops down in a deep squat, his face just inches from mine. A week without shaving has left a shadow of stubble on his face. His shoulders span almost twice the width of mine. But it’s the dark intensity of his gaze that demands my attention.

“No details.” He whispers the words so softly I barely hear him. “We can’t talk about the ILF or the mission. You don’t know when we can be overheard.”

I nod, chastised. It’s hard to remember what I’m not supposed to say, especially when we’re alone in the middle of nowhere.

“Get some rest,” he says, standing.