EMBER
The scream builds like an explosion in my throat, only no sound erupts. The smoke is thick and black, and I can’t draw a breath. My lungs burn. I blink, wiping the smoke-induced tears from my eyes with my sleeve. Above me, Ethan smiles. He’s calling my name. I reach for him, desperate to escape the heat before I melt. But his face changes. He’s yelling now, and his eyes are angry.
“Ember. Open up.”
I jolt upright in bed, gasping. Along the walls, the gaslights flicker to life.
“Ember!” Ethan calls from the other side of my door.
Moaning, I throw back my wool blanket, stumbling forward to the brass keypad next to the door. I punch it with the side of my fist, and the door slides open with a rusty groan. On the other side, leaning casually against the doorjamb, is Ethan. His smile is bright, but the mischievous lift of his brow betrays his true colors. Only the barest hint of the bruises from our last mission remains along his square jaw. I sigh, wondering how he manages it. He looks perfect, whereas I look like I’ve been hit by a train. My hand immediately flies to my hair, fighting to smooth the unruly strands.
“Are you going to invite me in?” he asks nonchalantly. As if I should have been expecting him to be at my door, as if it were totally commonplace. I lean past him, glancing down the hallway in both directions. Finally, I shrug and motion for him to come in. Why not? What’s one more rule broken today?
“I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re all right. The fire—”
He doesn’t have to finish. Without thinking, my hand goes to the inside of my arm, to the lumpy flesh there. My scars are old—healed—but the pain is still fresh. I don’t remember the fire, not really. Every so often, I get a glimpse, a whiff of smoke or a flash of flame, and it drills into my head like a corkscrew. Something about the first trip through time erases the mind, wiping the memory slate clean. All I remember is Flynn carrying me through the doors of the infirmary. I remember the blistering pain and wishing they would just let me die.
But it healed. I lived, thanks to Flynn. The only reason Ethan knows about it is because once, during a random practice drill, the teachers thought they’d see how we’d handle being thrown into the fire, literally. I’d fallen into a panic and frozen up. I never told him the whole story, never mentioned the nightmares, and he didn’t ask. He just sort of knew.
I shake my head and try for a reassuring smile. Judging by his arched eyebrow, he doesn’t buy it for a second.
“I’m fine. It’s just…” The words are replaced by a rush of emotion like a dam bursting inside my heart. Before I can process what’s happening, Ethan is holding me tightly to his chest, and I’m heaving with silent sobs as tears roll down my face.
“I’m sorry,” I say, shaking my head and wiping my face on my sleeve. “I was having a bad dream, and you were there, and—”
“Oh. Dreaming about me again, eh?” he asks, making my head snap up. I lean back, pushing him away.
“No, not like that.”
He holds up a hand. “No. No. I understand. It’s all right. Lots of girls dream about me, Ember. After all,” he begins, walking around my room and running his hand over the collection of old skeleton keys hanging on my wall, making them chime like bells, “I am incredibly handsome. And strong. And brave.” He walks his fingers across the stack of books on my desk. “It’s only natural you’d dream about me. I’m practically Prince Charming.”
I snatch my books out from under his hand as he smirks. “And humble too. Don’t forget humble.”
He holds his hands out in front of him. “And that, of course.”
My mouth twitches. I know he’s joking to make me feel better, but those things are all true, too. Not that I’d ever admit that to his face.
“Whatever you say, Ethan. Just keep in mind it was a nightmare,” I say before carefully putting my books back on the massive wall shelf.
I can feel him walk up behind me, and a tingle shoots up my back. “That’s a lot of old, boring books.”
I stuff the last book in its place on the top shelf and fold my arms across my chest, admiring the books. “Not boring.” Reaching out, I run my fingers down the worn spine of The Picture of Dorian Grey. “These are just my favorites. I’ve read most of the ones in the library.”
Ethan has a look of mock surprise on his face when I turn around, and his hand is over his heart. “We have a library? How did I not know this? I’ve been here for three years. Surely, I would have at least accidentally stumbled upon it looking for the bathroom or something.”
I’m staring at him as he talks, but I’m not really hearing what he’s saying. I’m too busy noticing something else.
“Your eyes are really blue,” I blurt out like an idiot.
He looks stunned, and then flattered. “Yes, they are. A handsome, manly blue.”
I can’t suppress the snort. “No. I mean most of the time they’re kind of light. But they aren’t now. They’re like midnight-blue.”
“Yes,” he agrees, wagging his eyebrows. “You can go write a girly poem about them if you’d like. Be sure you mention my rugged jaw, too.”
I roll my eyes and step past him, sorry I said anything. “I’ll call it Ode to an Egotistical Tool. Now, if you don’t mind.” I point to the door. “Get out.”
He grabs my arm, turning me to face him. The humor in his face is gone, replaced by an intensity I rarely see when we aren’t on an assignment. He pulls me close, clasping my hands in his. I have to hold in a shudder, which is odd because I’m warm. Like really warm all of a sudden. Maybe it has something to do with the way Ethan is staring at me with those dark blue eyes. How have I never noticed the subtle change of color before? And why is it getting hard to breathe?
“Before I go, I wanted to give you this.” He stuffs his hand in the pocket of his vest and pulls out a silver chain with a heavy pendant hanging off the end. I hold out my hand, and he drops it into my palm. It’s an ebony-and-ivory cameo on a chain. Only instead of a silhouette of a person, it’s an image of an hourglass.
I’m too stunned to form words. It’s so beautiful. I close my fingers around it and clutch it to my chest.
“I came across it a few months ago in wardrobe,” he says, “and it made me think of you.”
“You stole it,” I finish for him.
He shakes his head. “You could just say thank you.”
“It’s beautiful. Thank you,” I say, my heart dancing its way into my throat.
“It’ll be all right, Ember. I promise. Whatever the nightmares are about, whatever’s bothering you. It’ll be all right.”
He’s so confident, so sure, that it’s impossible not to believe him. I smile and nod once. He steps back and looks me over. “Now go get changed. You look like crap. And it wouldn’t kill you to run a comb through that hair either. Seriously. Have a little pride.”
Well, that didn’t last long. I sigh and roll my eyes.
He just blows me a kiss. “Go talk to Flynn, and I’ll meet up with you after, okay?”
“Sure. Whatever.” I move to flip my hair back, but it’s too matted, and my hand just sort of sticks in it. So I settle for an awkward head scratch.
He walks toward the door, looking back over his shoulder at me for a second like he might have more to say, then turns and leaves the room.
As soon as he’s gone, I can breathe again. I feel flustered and uncomfortable, but mostly, there’s a deep sense of dread in the pit of my stomach at the idea of facing Flynn. For a minute, I debate just crawling back into bed. Yeah, right. If I don’t go to Flynn, he’ll no doubt come looking for me. And I’d rather be dressed for that particular conversation.