Chapter 5

Ember crept closer, each step slow and silent, her feet sinking into the cold dirt. She kept her breath shallow, listening. The house was only a dark shape now, but the broken window on the right side gave her just enough sound to work with.

A crackle of fire. A low chuckle.

She froze.

No...

No, no, no.

She went lower, almost belly to the ground, and inched toward the window frame. The concrete shard felt heavy and warm in her hand despite the cold night.

Voices drifted out, clearer now.

Carlos.

Alive. Relaxed. Talking. And Ratty. Her laugh was unmistakable—dry, sharp, grating.

Ember felt her stomach twist at the sound.

“—told you she bought it,” Carlos said, voice calm, smug. “One jump and done. Idiot girl didn’t even scream.”

Ratty laughed harder, a mean, triumphant sound.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “Did you see her face when she had to strip? Like a kicked puppy. I swear, Carlos, I thought she was gonna start crying right there.”

Ember pressed her forehead against the cold wall, eyes squeezed shut. Her pulse hammered so loudly she thought they’d hear it.

Carlos continued, more quietly, almost bored: “She’s dead anyway. If the fall didn’t kill her, the walkers did. Doesn’t matter. We got the tin box. That’s the only thing that matters.” Ratty rustled something—fabric, maybe.

Ember heard her sucking her teeth.

“Wish we kept the jumpsuit,” Ratty muttered. “Maybe I could’ve sold it. Or worn it. Better than this crap.”

Carlos snorted. “You’d stretch it out.”

“Shut up.”

Another crackle of firewood. A soft thump—someone sitting down.

“Well,” Ratty sighed, satisfied and tired, “good day’s work. She won’t be bothering anyone now. Tomorrow we head back like nothing happened.”

“Yeah,” Carlos agreed. “Nobody’s gonna ask where she went.”

Ember lowered herself back into the darkness, her entire body trembling—not from cold now, but from a slow, burning hatred spreading through her chest.

They took everything. They stole her future. And now they slept in her shelter.

She tightened her grip on the shard of concrete until her knuckles cracked.

This wasn’t over.

Not tonight.

Not ever.

Ember crouched in the shadow of a broken fence, her bare skin chilled by the night air. Every step she took on the dry earth was silent, learned from a lifetime of careful balance. Her heart hammered—not from fear this time, but from the strain of waiting. She had to see, had to know, before making a move.

The small house loomed ahead, the same place she had rested yesterday. A single, dying fire cast long, flickering shadows across the walls.

Ember pressed herself lower, keeping her eyes on the window.

Inside, voices murmured. “I can’t believe she actually went through all that for the box,” Ratty said, her voice sharp, full of delight. “Covered in dirt, half-naked, and she still thinks she’s clever.”

“She’s a dancer,” Carlos replied calmly, almost bored. “But clever doesn’t matter when the stakes are ours. The backpack, the rest of it ... it’s all mine.”

“Oh, she’s more than clever,” Ratty purred, stepping closer to the firelight. “She’s funny. Watching her scramble like that ... I haven’t laughed this hard in months. You should’ve seen her face when she realized she lost everything. Priceless.”

Ember’s jaw tightened. They were mocking her, savoring her humiliation, yet every word gave her something to work with. She memorized the rhythm of their voices, the pauses, the small movements.

“Split it tonight?” Carlos asked, still calm. “Backpack’s mine. She can keep her pride if she wants, but the supplies go according to plan.”

“Of course,” Ratty said, her voice sweet with venom. “Backpack, metal box, firestarter ... You handle the valuables, I get the fun part. Her pride is my dessert.”

Ember’s chest tightened. The cruelty of it fueled a slow, focused fury. She knew they would rotate guard duties. One would stay awake while the other rested. That meant a window—small, yes, but enough. She just had to wait.

She sank lower into the shadows, hugging the cold ground. Her bare skin shivered. Patience. Every second brought her closer to the chance she needed. Her hands brushed against the concrete shard she had kept ready. Cold. Heavy. Reliable. The firelight glinted off its rough edge.

She imagined the next steps, rehearsing them silently in her mind. First, wait for Carlos to sleep. Then, wait for Ratty to follow the rotation. Then—quietly, without a sound—replace the bear trap under the landing where she had positioned it yesterday. After that, scale the wall, approach the fire without alerting them, and reclaim what was hers.

Her teeth clenched. This was her chance. The night was hers if she played it right.

Ember held her breath.

The wind shifted. Ratty laughed again—a long, mocking sound that echoed off the walls. Carlos replied with a dry chuckle, then silence fell.

Ember’s pulse slowed, her mind sharpening. Soon. Very soon. The opportunity would come. She pressed closer to the house, every muscle tensed, every sense alert.

The wait had begun.

Ember’s chest tightened. They were gloating, savoring her humiliation, but every word gave her information. The way they spoke, the pauses, the shifts in attention—she memorized it all.

She waited, muscles coiled, eyes sharp. Soon, one would sleep, and the other would take the first watch. She would have a window—small, but enough.

Ember moved closer, dragging herself across the shadowed ground. The concrete shard scraped lightly against the soil, and she froze every time a branch snapped or a leaf rustled.

Finally, she reached the landing beneath the second-floor opening. Her eyes fell on the bear trap she had set yesterday and carefully moved aside. It was already armed, teeth gleaming faintly in the firelight. Ember gently returned it to its original position beneath the landing. No adjustments were needed—just a steady hand and perfect timing. One wrong move, and the trap could betray her.