Page 7 of Ember Rising

“I want to stay with Briar,” I say as he holds the door open so I can walk through the doorway.

“Not yet.”

I stop, folding my arms over my chest. “I came here to help, and I’m being treated like a prisoner.”

He faces me, looking unbothered. “Everyone has to be cleared.”

“I cooperated. I should be cleared. Marcus saved your life, and he’ll vouch for me.”

His expression is closed off, revealing nothing. “We’re tight on security. It’s for everyone’s safety, including yours.”

Apparently done with the conversation, he starts walking again. I groan and follow. We walk through a series of artificially lit hallways. Based on the lack of windows, I think we’re underground.

“You’re in your own room,” he says, not looking at me. “You’ll have access to a courtyard and gym.”

I stop again, my anger rising. “It’s the literal apocalypse, dude. I don’t want to work out. I want to be with my people.”

“You will be.”

He keeps walking, badging his way through another doorway, an armed guard on the other side of it. Holding the door open, he just looks at me.

Dread creeps over my skin. I hate being at the mercy of strangers in a world where mercy is rare. I don’t want to be kept alone, away from my friends.

“Your room’s right here,” he says. “It has a shower.”

I feel like a little kid being bribed with a snack, but I can’t deny that memories of water pressure and control over the water temperature make my feet start moving.

“This isn’t building trust,” I gripe, walking through the door.

We walk a few more steps before he stops in front of a plain black door.

“This is your room,” he says. “There are clean clothes and toiletries inside. Food will be delivered to you later. Just let the guy by the door know if you need anything.”

“I need my bow back.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“It has to be stored outside. This place feels like a meat locker, and it’ll ruin my bow.”

He doesn’t respond, and the thought of him walking away makes my chest tight. I don’t want to be by myself in this strange place, even if my only option for company is him.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“ILF base. You’re safe.”

Something clicks in my head. He’s comfortable in those fatigues. Between that and the way he said the word “base,” a suspicion I had earlier is confirmed.

“What branch of the military were you in?”

There’s a slight pause before he answers. “Navy.”

“So you were a sailor, huh?”

A flicker of something passes over his face. “Technically.”

I’m about to follow up with another question, but he’s already leaving, the muscles on his back rippling as he walks away.

“Get some sleep,” he says, not looking back.