Ember's POV
The building explodes around us.
I throw myself over Spark, shielding her with my body as fire and debris rain down. The world becomes nothing but noise and heat and terror.
Again. It's happening again.
"MOVE!" Ashen's voice cuts through the chaos. His hands grab both of us, yanking us toward a hidden trapdoor I didn't even know existed.
Rev appears through the smoke, shadows wrapping around her like armor. "They found us! Twelve Syndicate soldiers outside, more coming!"
We tumble down into darkness. Sen crashes through last, his massive metal body barely fitting through the opening. Above us, footsteps pound across the floor.
"Where's the girl?" a voice shouts. "Where's the Pyromancer?"
My heart stops. They know what I am.
We're in some kind of underground tunnel. Dark. Cold. Water dripping somewhere. Spark is crying against my shoulder, but she's trying to be quiet. Brave.
"This way." Ashen moves through the darkness like he's done this a hundred times. Maybe he has. "There's an exit two miles east. If we're fast—"
An explosion rocks the tunnel. Dust cascades from the ceiling.
"They're collapsing it!" Rev curses, pulling out glowing crystals that light our way. "They're going to bury us alive!"
We run.
My lungs burn. My legs scream. Spark is too heavy for me to carry but I refuse to let her go. Behind us, the tunnel collapses section by section, chasing us like a hungry monster.
"There!" Ashen points ahead at a ladder leading up. "Go! NOW!"
Sen reaches it first, smashing through the sealed grate above with one metal fist. We climb frantically—Rev first with Spark, then me, then Ashen.
Sen brings up the rear just as the tunnel behind him completely caves in.
We emerge in an abandoned warehouse. My hands are bleeding from the rough ladder. Everything hurts. But we're alive.
For now.
"How did they find us?" I gasp between breaths. "You said the hideout was safe!"
"It was." Rev's face is grim as she examines one of her memory crystals. "Unless someone told them where to look."
"A traitor?" Ashen's voice goes cold. Dangerous.
"Or tracking magic we missed." Rev holds up the crystal—the one with my stolen memories. It's glowing faint red. "This. This is how they found us."
My stomach drops. "But you said you checked it! You said it was safe!"
"I checked for standard tracking spells. This is something else. Something new." Rev's hands shake slightly as she stares at the crystal. "They've upgraded their magic. This tracer is woven into the memories themselves. The moment we brought it near you, it activated."
"So they'll always know where I am if I take those memories back?" My voice cracks.
"Yes."
The word hangs in the air like a death sentence.
I stare at that crystal—at everything I lost, everything I need to know, everyone I need to hurt. It's right there. So close.
But taking it means bringing the Syndicate down on everyone I care about.
I already lost my parents. My sister once. I can't lose the people who saved me.
"Destroy it," I whisper.
"What?" Rev looks at me like I'm crazy.
"Destroy the crystal. Burn those memories. If they're tracking it, then—"
"Those are YOUR memories!" Rev steps between me and the crystal protectively. "Your parents' last words. The faces of who killed them. The truth about what you are. You can't just—"
"I can if it keeps you safe!"
"That's not your choice to make!"
"It's my memories! It IS my choice!"
We're screaming at each other. Spark is crying. Sen stands frozen, unsure who to protect from whom.
Ashen doesn't raise his voice. He just walks over, takes the crystal from Rev's hand, and tosses it to me.
I catch it on instinct.
"What are you doing?" Rev hisses at him.
"Giving her what she needs." Ashen's mismatched eyes meet mine. "The Syndicate is coming whether you take those memories or not. They know you're alive now. They know you're with us. The tracking spell just tells them where—they were already hunting for that information anyway."
"So I should just doom everyone by taking them?"
"No. You should take them, learn the truth, and then let me teach you how to burn tracking magic from your own mind." His smile is sharp. "Did you think I survived a hundred years of running without learning how to hide from magical tracers?"
Hope flutters in my chest. Dangerous hope. "You can remove it?"
"I can teach YOU to remove it. It'll hurt. It'll take days of practice. But yes."
I look down at the crystal in my hands. It's warm. Pulsing. Like it's alive.
These are my memories. My truth. My past.
Everyone's watching me. Waiting.
"How old are you?" Ashen asks suddenly.
The question throws me. "Seventeen. Why?"
"You're a baby." His voice is soft but not mean. Almost sad. "A child who's been through hell and thinks rushing into more hell is the answer."
"I'm not a child!"
"You are. And there's no shame in that." He moves closer, and for once his face is completely serious. "Let me teach you to fight first. Really fight. Not just survive but WIN. Three months of training. Then you can have your memories and your revenge. Deal?"
"Three months?" I shake my head. "People are dying RIGHT NOW because of the Syndicate! I can't just sit around learning while—"
"You'll die in three days if you go after them unprepared," Ashen interrupts. "Is that what you want? To become another statistic? Another burned body?"
The words hit like a slap.
"I..." My voice fails.
"Three months," Ashen repeats gently. "I'll teach you everything I know. Memory burning. Mind reading. Combat magic. How to hide from trackers. How to kill without hesitation. How to survive when everyone wants you dead." He pauses. "Your parents are gone, Ember. Don't make Spark an orphan twice."
I look at my sister. She's so small. So scared.
If I die rushing into revenge, who takes care of her?
"Deal," I whisper finally. "Three months. But then—"
"Then we burn them all," Ashen promises. His smile returns—dark and beautiful and somehow reassuring. "Together."
Rev relaxes slightly. "Thank the stars. Someone in this group has sense."
"I still think we should—"
A blade suddenly presses against my throat.
I freeze.
"Don't move," a voice says behind me. Familiar. Painful.
Thorne steps into view, keeping the knife at my neck. My childhood friend. My first betrayer.
But his eyes are wrong. Glazed. Empty.
"Thorne?" My voice shakes. "What are you—"
"The Syndicate sends their regards," he says in a monotone. "Come quietly or everyone here dies."
That's when I see them—the memory control marks glowing on his temples. They didn't just recruit him.
They're controlling him.
And behind him, stepping through the warehouse entrance with fifty armed soldiers...
Lord Magistrate Corvus Dredge himself.
He smiles at me like a cat who found a mouse.
"Hello, little Pyromancer," Dredge says pleasantly. "We've been looking everywhere for you. Time to come home."