Chapter Twenty-Three
THE GIRL HAD forgotten how to look over her shoulder. I’d been watching long enough to notice that.
She moved through the world now like a stray ember—small, defiant, untended. Her hair flowing free, her eyes bright. Freedom had changed her shape but not her purpose. The Flame had once chosen her for me, for service, for devotion. That didn’t fade just because she ran.
I waited until she disappeared through the door before letting the breath leave my chest. The same air she breathed, and I’d almost missed it.
Once, she’d knelt before me by the fire. Her voice had been soft when she spoke the verses, her hands trying not to tremble under the heat. My vessel of light, I’d called her. My gift from the Flame.
And then she’d sinned.
I could still feel her teeth on my arm, the flash of her defiance. My fingers brushed the scar now, and I smiled faintly. Pain had always been the Flame’s way of reminding me I was chosen. I never minded. I welcomed it. That’s what made Lark so perfect for me, her fight. I craved it. Fed on it.
She thought I burned the night she escaped. Thought I was gone. But fire does not destroy the faithful, it refines them.
We’d rebuilt before. We would again.
The Flame had tested me with loss, stripped me of comfort, left me only my purpose.
And purpose is all a man needs.
I pulled the photograph from my coat pocket, grainy, distant, but unmistakable. Her, caught in front of a fire. Her sin made flesh.
“Soon,” I whispered. “You’ll come home. You’ll kneel again. You’ll remember who you are.”
A car passed, its headlights washing over the tree I hid behind before fading back into the dark. I didn’t move until the silence settled again.
Somewhere beyond the house, I heard the low thunder of a motorcycle, the man’s machine. The one who stayed too close, who spoke to her like she wasn’t already claimed.
A slow smile pulled at my mouth. The Flame would not be denied its vessel.
I stepped back from the tree and slipped into the night with the calm certainty of a man already blessed.
***
THE MAN WAITED where I told him to, just off the highway, past the broken sign that once marked the edge of Charleston County. The night hung heavy with humidity, the air humming with insects.
He didn’t speak when I approached. None of them did. Not until I gave permission.
“You came,” I said quietly. “Good.”
A nod from the shadowed figure.
“What have you learned about the others?”
“Scattered,” he said. “But still in the area.”
“I want locations,” I murmured. I stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of his cologne. “The Flame doesn’t die. It only waits for kindling to reignite.”
He swallowed. “And her?”
“I want her back.” My lips curved, not quite a smile, but close. “She’s forgotten who she is, but the Flame remembers. It always remembers.”
The man shifted, uneasy. “You’re sure you want her back?”
“She is my vessel,” I said. “That never changes. The soul burns forever.”
He studied me under the weak dashboard glow of his truck. “She’s… different.”
“Freedom will do that to a vessel,” I said, calm. “It corrupts what was pure. But she can be cleansed again. All things can.”
He hesitated, then asked, “What do you need from me?”
My gaze drifted toward the horizon, where the city lights flickered like distant embers. “Stay close. Watch. Listen. The man she’s with, find out what he means to her. I want information on Malik and where he’s being kept.”
“And if they figure out I’m snooping around?” he asked.
“They won’t.” My voice gentled, almost tender. “And she remembers the fire, even if she pretends she doesn’t. It calls to her. When the time comes, she’ll return to its light willingly.”
He tucked his hands into his pockets. “I’ll keep you informed.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder—a slow, deliberate gesture of blessing. “Do not fail. The flame burns hotter for those that don’t.”
He murmured his assent, turning back toward the truck. Gravel crunched beneath his boots. The headlights flared, blinding for a heartbeat, before the vehicle rolled away into the night.
As I stepped back into darkness, the glow painted my smile holy.
“Soon,” I whispered. “My vessel returns.”
The truck’s taillights faded down the road, leaving me alone with cicadas and the faint hiss of cooling metal.
I closed my eyes and felt heat rise in my chest. Not anger. Not fear.
Faith.
The Flame had not abandoned me. It had simply waited.
And now, at last, it was hungry again.