Page 1 of Burning Embers

One

IZZY

All of my belongings can fit into one duffel bag.

It’s sad, really, when you think about it. How can an entire lifetime of items be confined to a bag only half the size of me?

I never allowed myself to overly think about my belongings—or lack thereof—until now. Even I have to admit the sight is pitiful. At least it’s better than the garbage bag I carried around when I was first put into the foster care system years ago.

Amanda Highland taps her manicured fingers against the steering wheel as she stares at me out of the corner of her eye. That red lipstick she likes to wear so much looks like a bloody slash across her face. I’ve never seen her do anything but scowl before—usually at me—so this impassive front has a tendril ofsomethingcrawling through my chest.

Guilt?

Regret?

Fear?

I absently finger the strap of the bag resting on my lap.

“This might be your last chance, kid,” she murmurs, her jaw clenching in a way that has me quickly looking away.

I hate the anger splayed across her face. It makes me feel as if I did something wrong…which I didn’t. All I did was defend myself.

I ignore Amanda’s condescending tone as I turn to stare out the window, watching the rippling green hills shift into woodsy forests. Interspersed amongst the trees are cottages. Some are small—the type of home you would expect a wilderness survival expert to stay in—while others are large and extravagant.

It takes everything I have within me not to gawk.

I don’tgawk.

At the end of the road, the asphalt transitions into dirt, broken apart by tire tracks. The ride is unsurprisingly bumpy, and I have to grip the handle above my head to keep from banging my skull against the window. After what feels like hours, but I know to only be minutes later, we arrive at the largest house I’ve seen so far.

Though calling this monstrosity a house or even a cabin is a grave insult.

A gazebo rests directly before the front entrance—six pillars holding up a hexagonal roof with a swinging bench underneath. The mansion itself is constructed out of both mismatched stones and wooden pillars, somehow seamlessly blending modern and ancient architecture together.

There are so many windows that I wonder how this family ever receives any privacy…but then I remember that they live in the middle of nowhere. The closest town is over fifteen miles away.

Towering trees surround the home from all sides, though it doesn’t make the building appear gloomy or desolate. The ambient lighting trickling out through the open windows ensures that.

“Damn, kid,” Amanda murmurs under her breath and whistles fondly.

I ignore her.

The house may be pretty, but that means nothing when it comes to the people inside.

I know very little about the couple who chose to foster me—only their names.

Gerry and Hale Prince.

Amanda assured me that they’ve been extensively checked out, but she also said that about the last few homes I’ve been placed with.

Extensively checked out my ass.

If it comes to it, I’ll do what I did the last time things went badly—stab first, ask for forgiveness later, and run like hell. It’s what I’m best at, after all.

Amanda slides out of the car, and I don’t waste any time doing so as well. Slinging the duffel bag over my shoulder, I stare up at the place I’ll be forced to call “home” for the next year.

Home. Scoff.