Page 37 of Ember Rising

“Fuck. I didn’t mean to push you. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just ... glad you didn’t shoot me.”

I sigh heavily. I must have been in a deep sleep for the first time since we left the base. That’s when the nightmares come.

“Where’s the candle?” I ask.

“I have it. Give me a second.”

The strike of a match sounds and she lights the thick wax candle. Shadows dance over her face, her brows pinched together in worry.

I put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I thought⁠—”

She puts her hand over mine, her reassurance making me feel even worse about pushing her.

“I know. It’s okay.”

I was a SEAL for seven years; the job comes with a wild schedule, solid benefits and guaranteed nightmares. But I didn’t have them often. My time in Ingrid Voss’s dungeon left its mark on my mind, though, and now I often wake up in the night sweating, my heart racing and my sore throat indicating I was screaming.

Which makes me the guy who scolded Amira about needing to whisper and later screamed loud enough to alert everyone in a one-mile radius we’re here.

“How long was I asleep?” I take my hand from her shoulder and stand up.

There’s a pause before she says, “More than two hours.”

“How much longer?”

She lifts a shoulder in a shrug. “I’m not a clock. You needed to sleep.”

Amira wouldn’t last an hour in the military. She only listens to me half the time, and she’s the only backup I have out here. I might be in more danger than I was when I was undercover as Tyrone, and that was a tightrope walk.

Engaging in arguments won’t help, though. I have to keep my cool.

“Your turn to sleep,” I say.

“I’m good. We should get in some miles before sunrise.”

I put my hands on my waist, scrutinizing her. “How long was I asleep?”

“Seven hours, maybe?”

I look up at the barn’s loft, which has missing and rotted boards and is hanging on by a thread. It irritates me that I didn’t wake up on my own after a couple hours. I never had to be woken up on ops, and I was with my trusted squad members.

After scrubbing a hand down my face, I say, “Pack up.”

“I’m ready.”

That agitates me, too. She already has her bag and bow slung over her back. I’m the one who has shit to gather up. I started cleaning a gun, figuring I’d finish it while she was sleeping so I had something to do.

I chose to be here. I could’ve stayed back at the base and let someone else bring Amira to the ILF base east of Atlanta. But she’s a high-value asset, and I’m the only one who has a degree of her trust. She’s too important for an unseasoned ILF agent like Olin.

It had to be me. We’ve got a long stretch ahead on foot, and she could turn on me at any time.

Amira’s not who she says she is, so I’ve got to stay vigilant. Even when she’s cracking jokes and waking me up from nightmares with a tenderness and understanding that tells me she knows what it’s like to be haunted by the past.

Eighteen hours and more than fifty miles on foot later, I’m standing at the edge of a wooded area beside a house, my heels aching.

“You’re still too close, perv!” Amira calls out.