11. Ember
EMBER
ZOMBIE – YUNGBLUD
I abandoned her to die.
Bickering voices wash over me, converging into a senseless wave that fails to drown out my own hate-filled chant. The pins and needles burrowing into my tight, hot skin drive the torture home.
I left Gracie behind.
Between Warner and Hyland trading information with the intelligence department and Axel talking non-stop to ease the tension screaming off the Falcon Team, the debrief room is riotous. It almost rivals the chaos ripping me apart on the inside.
If I had to explain what living with a chronic illness is like, I’d struggle to describe the sense of wrongness. Like your body isn’t your own. Organs feel alien. Limbs disobedient. The anxiety of waiting for an attack to take hold feels like balancing on a knife’s edge.
My palms sear where I’m digging my nails in to conceal the shaking, worsening by the hour. I haven’t slept more than a few hours since we got Tom back. The constant fear, exhaustion and adrenaline are taking their toll.
“He’s toying with us!” Hyland booms across the room.
“Gael’s intentions are irrelevant,” Warner argues.
“Dangling Gracie Livingstone in our faces is a distraction technique. Gael lost his leverage, so he found more. He wants us to look for her.”
With a wince, I rub my temples. Hyland’s deep voice is slicing into my fucking brain, and I can’t see straight as it is.
“We don’t even have a location yet.” The strain in Warner’s words tells me he’s struggling to keep his cool. “There’s no need to jump to conclusions.”
“You’re playing into his hands.”
“We’re following up a lead on a missing person relevant to our case. That’s it.”
“Rayna,” Axel chimes in, bizarrely acting as the peacekeeper. “What do we know?”
“From what we can tell so far, the package passed through three European countries.” She clicks her laptop, deep in concentration. “Awaiting further analysis on two of the images.”
“Can we tell where Gracie is being held from them?”
“Hard copies lack the metadata of digital photographs, but we’re looking into the spatial clues we identified. We may be able to deduce a rough location. A country, at least.”
“Then what?” Hyland throws his big hands. “We’re going to waltz into another trap?”
“No.” Warner gnaws his bottom lip.
“You were all ready to go in guns blazing a moment ago.”
“Will you just sit down and take a breath?”
“No! We’ve already lost someone, and we’re no closer to tracing Gael or his estate overseas. Carlos is dead. Dominic and his honeypots are headed for prison. We should be focusing on bringing Gael to us next, not taking his bait.”
The loud screeching of a chair being shoved back precedes Archer abruptly stalking from the debrief room. He doesn’t look at anyone—not even his remaining teammates—as he leaves.
Oscar and Kyle stare down at their note-cluttered paperwork. Neither offers a word nor dares to lift their heads. To their credit, the team hasn’t missed a day since Josh’s death. They’ve picked up the slack while we’ve been with Tom.
Warner dons a mask of pure frustration. “We’re here to discuss our next steps, Hy. I know you’re hurting, but be professional or leave. That’s an order.”
“How dare you make this about me?”
“We lost a man on our watch.”
“If you have something to say, just spit it out.”
“Trust me, I know how it feels to lose a colleague in the line of fire. But right now, we need to focus. Go make this right, then come back with a level head.”
Hyland’s bulky shoulders deflate as the weight of the world settles onto them. “I’ll get Archer.”
“Good.”
With Hyland gone, conversation returns to the images that have been dated, printed and shipped to us like a fucking Christmas present.
I struggle to see the floor-to-ceiling case board that holds every scrap of evidence we have, years’ worth of investigative work laid out in an elaborate display of failure.
Countless surveillance ops, interrogations, arrests and dead ends. Long-range shots of potential locations for Gael’s estate. Washed up trafficking victims. DNA profiles. Shipping manifestos. Now Gracie—older, visibly beaten and posed in all manner of sickening ways.
I wish it wasn’t her, but it is. Each shot captures her in high-definition horror. Her devastating blue eyes, swimming with numb detachment, offer a dead stare beneath matted, dark hair. She’s gaunt, her cheekbones pronounced, skin smeared with vivid bruises.
“Gracie…” I trace my finger over the pallid features in the photos.
She’s grown up so much. It’s not the first time I’ve seen her naked since our time in the cage, but the terror in her eyes as her abuser snapped each photo is unbearable. Pain and dizziness muddy the proof of my failure to keep her safe.
I did this. I left her there.
“While authorities are continuing to search for Gael’s estate with our intel, we’re going to focus on Gracie.” Warner looks around the room. “I want to know where she’s being held. Her captors may lead us to Gael.”
“We know he has connections to illegal operations across Europe.” Axel cracks his knuckles. “That asshole Dominic confirmed as much. So it’s feasible that she could be there.”
“Let’s reach out to our international partners and update them. Circulate these new images of her face. We’ll have to bring her next of kin in first; we don’t want her parents finding out about this online.”
There’s a chorus of agreeing sounds. Just the mention of her parents makes my gut roil with nausea. I haven’t met them yet, but I know they’re keen to speak to me about Gracie.
“Why send the photos at all?” Fox asks, huddled with his fellow techies.
“Ember killed his guy.” Kyle speaks for the first time, staring at his clenched fists. “Gael’s been wounded. He’s scrambling to source new leverage because he still wants Ember to break.”
“Well, if Gael wants a final showdown, then that’s what he’s going to get,” Warner states flatly. “We’ll locate Gracie and take the fight to her.”
“Excellent,” Axel grumbles. “We’re all going to die.”
“Don’t you start with me too.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Ax,” Warner cautions.
“Every time we get close to a breakthrough, the cartel dances back out of reach. Not even Madden can find where Gael or his father are hiding out. We’re constantly on the back foot.”
“We found Tom,” Warner argues. “And we have eliminated Gael’s right-hand man. I understand tensions are high, but we need to remain positive.”
“Positive?” Kyle repeats.
Warner’s mouth flaps open before closing.
“Our teammate is waiting to be buried, and you’re asking us to be positive?”
“Kyle—”
“No! You can’t expect us to risk our lives for her personal vendetta!”
Kyle spits the single syllable with venom. I recoil at his outburst. He’s never had a problem with me before. Not until the rescue op that killed his fellow agent, that is. Now he’s looking at me like I’m an armed nuclear warhead, and he’s caught in the blast radius.
“This is the job.” Warner’s neck muscles clench as he battles to remain calm. “It isn’t personal. There are no vendettas. We’re here to serve justice, plain and simple.”
“What’s impersonal about having your lead witness working for you?”
“Ember is a Sabre agent. She’s part of this investigation.”
“She’s a walking liability!” Kyle snarls with genuine contempt. “Just look at the mess left behind in Felixstowe.”
“Watch your tone.”
“Or what?”
“Go cool off!” Warner erupts, his temper finally shattering. “Now.”
Pressure burns into the side of my splitting head. When I glance to the right, I find Blaine staring at me instead of the arguing men. He too lingers at the edge of the room, a silent sentry primed to intervene but remaining stoic.
Since Carlos’s death, Blaine’s the only one who hasn’t treated me like I’m made of glass. If anything, he seems quieter. Observant. Like he’s seeing me in a new light, and he’s processing what he saw, strategising how to use it to his advantage.
With a furiously spat curse word, Kyle departs the room, leaving Oscar to chase after him. He has the decency to look embarrassed. Honestly, it’s unnecessary. Kyle has every right to be mad. He’s right—I left a hell of a mess behind.
“Fantastic.” Axel drops his purple head into his hands, yanking his hair in aggravation. “Our entire secondary team is in timeout.”
“They’ll come back.” Warner dips his chin in consternation.
“They aren’t cut out for this job. Let them go.”
“Nobody is cut out for this shit.”
“You’re telling me!” Axel rebuffs. “We’re falling apart!”
“What the hell do you want me to do? Give up?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then get on side and help.” Warner shifts his weight onto his good leg. “I can’t focus on finding Gael if I’m fighting fires on the home front.”
“Alright, alright.” Releasing his hair, Axel appears to gather himself. “What evidence do we have from the port?”
As Warner settles into a seat to pour over the evidence log from Felixstowe, I find myself tuning out. My jaw aches from the force of gritting my teeth, and my bleary vision is worsening with the stabbing needles making my fingers twitch.
Not now. Not now.
I can feel my racing heart behind my eyes, each muscle in my body throbbing. The symptoms have been intensifying for days, growing fiercer by the hour. Nights spent camped out in Tom’s ICU room anxiously watching a machine breathe for him haven’t helped.
“B-Bathroom,” I announce.
Multiple gazes snap to me.
“Em?” Warner starts to rise from his seat. “You good?”
“Yes. Carry on without me.”
“You look pale.”
“I’m f-fine. Back soon.”
Waving him off, I find the sense to nod reassuringly then leave the room. Our team is stretched to a breaking point right now. Warner said it himself—he can’t simultaneously fight fires and find Gracie. I need to deal with this alone.
To my relief, Hyland and the others aren’t in sight. A heavy exhale pours from my lungs upon finding nothing but an empty corridor that resembles a ship adrift in tumultuous waters. Even my feet feel too heavy to lift as my legs and arms shudder involuntarily.