Jonah glanced over at her. “Don’t light that in here.”
She paused, finger on the spark wheel. “Why not?”
“Because I said not to,” he scolded, “I don’t want to be inhaling your disgusting smoke. You’d think for a million dollar salary you wouldn’t feel the need to get high before a mission.”
Get fucked.Ruby lit the cigarette, took in a deep drag, and blew it in his direction. Citrus and anise drifted through the truck’s cab. “Smell like weed to you?”
“Doesn’t mean I want to breathe it in.”
Her temper flared, warmth flooding beneath her skin. “A cracked window would solve that. You do understand that I need this to live, right?”
“Can you call what you do ‘living’?”
That hit a nerve. Living had been a slow, grinding chore since she became a thermy—since everything she was had beenburned away. Hell, maybe even before that. Sometimes people grow up too young and don’t have a chance to live through their youth. They grow into adults, but not into themselves. They forget how to enjoy life.
She rolled down the window, tapping the cigarette out on the side of the vehicle.
"You forced me to work with you,” she snapped, tossing the snuffed out blunt into his water cup, her frustration reaching a boiling point. "I didn’t ask for this," she added, "You want me to not abandon your ass with a rogue thermy, then you can show me, and the case, a little bit of respect. The guy’s a threat—a danger to everyone around him. I don’t know what your problem is, but get your head out of your ass or he’s going to rip off that pretty little head of yours. Hate to break it to you, but regardless of how strong your inflated ego makes you think you are, any thermy is going to be 500 times stronger, faster, and probably smarter.” She didn’t need this; she’d been surviving on her own for years, adapting to a life with silence as her only companion.
Jonah’s grip on the wheel tightened. “You weren’t the only one forced into this. Let’s just get it over with.”
Her pulse quickened, anger sparking into something more volatile. His presence used to mean so much to her, and yet every dismissive glance, every curt answer, twisted a knife deep in her ribs. She ground her teeth, turning to the window, feeling the hollowness of his words.
By the time they reached the seedy motel where the thermophile holed up, tension coiled between them like a spring ready to snap. The buzzing neon sign threw sharp shadows over the lot as they parked, its erratic hum unsettling.
“This is where he’s hiding?” Jonah dripped with disdain, like the building itself offended him.
“Guess so,” she replied, nodding toward the dim light shining through a cracked window on the second floor. Shetexted Lucas, confirming their arrival and requesting additional agents for transport. “Room 209.”
“After you.” Jonah gestured toward the door leading to the staircase.
Ruby rolled her eyes but opened the door. They crept up the stairs, their steps muffled by the layer of dust clinging to every surface. The stale, metallic smell of sweat hung in the air, mixing with the faint stench of ash—a scent that always lingered around thermophiles, like charred wood and sour embers.
Without breaking stride, Ruby kicked the door in. The sound splintered through the hallway like a gunshot.
Inside, the room was barely lit, shadows pooling in every corner, dense and oppressive.
A man stood in the center, a shirtless, bony figure with brown hollow eyes. He had a tattoo running over his back—a pyre of wood engulfed in purple and orange flames. His skin stretched taut over his skull, his cheekbones sharp, and the veins on his eyelids were a deep purple, a color reserved for thermies who had recently consumed. The color pissed Ruby off as much as it made her feel guilty. Either the reports were wrong, or he had recently consumed for the first time.
The man took a stumbling step back as they entered, his gaze darting toward the window, calculating.
“Don’t,” Ruby warned flatly, stepping inside.
The man sneered. “You think you can stop me? You have no idea what I am.”
Jonah’s hand drifted to his holster, but Ruby stepped in front of him, her pink collapsible baton snapping open with a vicious flick of her wrist.
“Try me,” Ruby laughed, flicking up her sunglasses, revealing the green markings on her eyelids. He tried to push her away but failed, his shove stronger than a human, but much weaker than a thermie’s should be.
The thermophile hesitated just long enough for Ruby to catch the movement in the corner of her eye. She released him and spun toward the newcomer. A girl—young, skeletal, eyes wide and hollow—emerged from the shadows behind him. Her arms were crisscrossed with weeping burns, some fresh and blistering, others faded into white scars. She swayed on her feet, equal parts desperate and defiant.
Jonah took in the faint quiver of her lip and gestured for her to come closer. “It’s okay, ma’am, we’re here to help you. Please come over to me and we’ll get you out of here safely.”
She took a shaky step forward, her body swaying slightly as she moved closer to the man, positioning herself between them. “Please… don’t hurt him,” she whispered in a horse rasp. “He needs me. Without me, he… he’ll die. It’s not his fault.”
Ruby’s heart sank, and a heaviness settled over her. The girl’s scars told a story of unimaginable devotion and suffering, and a painful, desperate kind of love. Ruby took a breath, swallowing down the knot of sympathy in her throat.
Jonah’s face darkened, a mix of horror and anger contorting his features. He took a step forward. “He needs you? He’s killing you. He’s leaving you with nothing while he takes everything.”
