Page 51 of Blazing Embers

As I climb into the car, my phone buzzes again.

The screen lights up with a new message.

Well done. You aced that one. But let’s see how you fare with the third trial. Instructions will follow after the wedding ceremony.

I stare out the window.

The fire isn't done with me yet.

And the next flame might be the one that burns everything down.

17

TARA

I drag in a lungful of the sharp, icy mountain air as I jog beside Pavel, my lungs burning and heart pounding. My hoodie sticks to my spine, soaked through, and my hair is a damp mess. Pavel looks worse, hunched and panting, arms swinging awkwardly. He lets out a groan as he slows to a walk.

“Eight miles,” he wheezes.

“Ten,” I correct, nudging him with my elbow. “You’ve gotten so fit, you didn't even realize I had added an extra two miles.”

“Great. I'm so fucking fit I’m gonna puke.”

I pat his shoulder in feigned sympathy.

The cold wind stings my cheeks, but it’s nothing compared to the numbness curling inside me. I should laugh at Pavel's almost comical wheezing from exertion. I should feel something, but it’s like watching myself from a distance. The throb in my chest isn’t from exertion—it’s the weight of everything pressing down on me.

A part of me wants to collapse right there in the snow and scream until my lungs give out. But instead, I flash a grin. The kind that masks the fracture lines. These runs, these games, this sparring every day—it’s not about keeping fit. It’s about containment, like trying to keep a nuclear power plant from overheating. I’m a ticking bomb, and everyone knows it.

I haven't had my pills that control my emotions for close to six weeks now.

And the breathing exercises, going to my happy place, is no longer enough to keep me from flying off the handle. My skin has a continuous itch that burns if I'm not moving, and my mind plays scenes of my daughter's face over and over again if I'm not thinking of something else or pushing my body to its physical limits.

The scare at the hospital was a huge wake-up call to me. While it might only be a lie to deceive Ruslan and the RMSAD, it was nearly true; I almost lost my uterus. According to the nurse who doctored my medical records, I came very close.

I was hoping the ruse of me not being able to have children would make Ruslan stop with this farce and let me go. After all, this was about his heir. It's how my whole life got so fucked up in the first place.

Ruslan's incessant desire to control the Mirochins. It's what turned me into this version of myself I don't recognize, and she makes me sick to my stomach.

It was some fitness coach, Mike Tomlin, who once said, 'it's not what you're capable of. It's what you're willing to do.' While it was a quote about fitness, it applies to every aspect of a person's life.

I never thought I was capable of doing the things I've done, but as it turns out, when it comes to protecting my loved ones, I've discovered precisely what I'm willing to do.

The thunderous chop of rotor blades rips through the wind, jarring me from my spiraling thoughts. I freeze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat, and Pavel stiffens beside me. A chill runs down my spine, not from the cold but from instinct—something’s wrong.

That sound doesn’t belong here, not tonight. Not when the air has been so still, so quiet. My heart knocks against my ribs as I lift my eyes to the sky, squinting into the gray haze. Something about it feels off. Unfamiliar. Dangerous.

Pavel squints up at the sky. “That’s not one of ours.”

We sprint into the trees, dropping low as the helicopter descends. I follow Pavel’s lead as we duck behind a thick pine trunk.

The bird touches down, and the door opens. A man steps out, tall, with a rigid posture and gray short hair—something in my gut twists.I know him.

“That's General Morozov.” Pavel leans closer. “Your grandfather.”

I blink. “My grandfather?”

Pavel nods solemnly. “Yes, he's your mother’s father,” he says, his voice tight with the weight of the truth.

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