Chapter Twenty-Two

The steel door groaned shut behind them, sealing Ember, Kai, and Rhea inside the underground safehouse. The air was thick with the scent of oil, metal, and something faintly chemical—gunpowder, maybe. This wasn't just a hideout. It was a war room.

The silver-haired woman—who still hadn't given her name—led them into a dimly lit chamber. Maps were pinned to the walls, covered in scrawled notes and red markings. Screens flickered with surveillance footage of various locations Ember didn't recognize. Weapons lined the tables, carefully maintained and within easy reach.

This was a resistance base.

And these people weren't just surviving. They were preparing to fight.

The woman turned, crossing her arms as she studied Ember. "Tell me something. Do you actually want to win this war, or are you just looking to survive it?"

Ember's jaw tightened. "If I only wanted to survive, I wouldn't be here."

The woman nodded, as if that was the answer she expected. "Good. Because surviving isn't enough." She gestured to the room around them. "The Regime doesn't leave survivors. It erases them. If you want to change that, you need to be ready to do whatever it takes."

Rhea shifted uneasily beside Ember. "And what exactly does 'whatever it takes' mean?"

The woman's smirk was cold. "It means no hesitation. No weakness. No mercy."

Ember met her gaze head-on. "And you think I'm weak?"

The woman stepped closer, the air between them charged. "I think you don't know what you're capable of yet. You've spent your whole life reacting—running, fighting only when forced to. But if you want to win, you need to start acting."

Kai, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "We don't have time for speeches, Commander. She needs to learn."

Commander.

So that was who she was. A leader of the resistance.

The woman—Commander—sighed. "Fine. Let's see what she can do." She turned toward the far end of the room, where a large metal panel slid open with a hiss, revealing a training area.

The floor was padded, the walls lined with weapons and tactical gear. There were dummies for target practice, a sparring ring, and—most ominously—a row of simulation pods, the kind Ember had only ever seen used by the Regime's elite soldiers.

Commander gestured toward the ring. "Step in."

Ember didn't hesitate. She climbed into the center of the ring, muscles coiled, heart steady. She had been fighting for survival her entire life. If this woman wanted to test her, so be it.

Commander motioned to one of the men standing nearby. He stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. He was built like a tank, all muscle and battle scars.

Ember arched a brow. "Really? You think I need a warm-up?"

The man grinned. "Oh, this ain't a warm-up, sweetheart."

He lunged.

Ember dodged, barely missing his fist as it whistled past her ear. He was fast for his size. But she was faster.

She pivoted, aiming a sharp kick at his side. He blocked, grabbing her ankle and twisting. Pain flared through her leg, but she used the momentum to flip, breaking his grip and landing lightly on her feet.

The man's grin widened. "Not bad."

He came at her again, faster this time. Ember ducked, narrowly avoiding a punch that would have knocked her flat. Her instincts screamed at her to react—to fight like she always had. But she forced herself to think.

No more reacting.

Act.

The moment he overextended his next punch, she twisted under his arm and slammed her elbow into his ribs. He staggered, and Ember didn't let him recover. She swept his legs out from under him, and before he could hit the ground, she was already on top of him, her knee pressed against his throat.

Silence filled the room.

Commander's expression didn't change, but there was something approving in her gaze.

"Now you're starting to get it," she said.

Ember released the man and stepped back. Her pulse was steady. Her breathing even. For the first time, she felt in control.

Commander smirked. "That was just the beginning."

Ember met her gaze, unflinching.

"Good. Because I'm just getting started."