LOUIS🗡

Sunday, 9:23am

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LOVELY.

I slept in a bush all night, woke up with sand in my hair, skipped breakfast because Ash said we didn't have time, and now I'm on my way to visit two arsonists/murderers/thieves/horrible people—otherwise known as her parents.

I'm so excited!

That was sarcasm, if you couldn't tell.

I wasn't sure if our row yesterday made things awkward between us, because she's currently refusing to look me in the eye. It was because of what I said, wasn't it? I called her—no, not her, the kiss—a mistake. It was in the heat of the moment, and I'm not entirely sure if I meant it or not.

She mentioned that she knew where her parents were hiding, because she saw an address before they ditched her to come to Barbados. One of her most prominent memories, she said.

"Do you think you'll be able to recognize them?" I asked, ducking under a market stand.

Ash kept her eyes on the pavement. "I haven't seen them in four years."

"Do you think they'll remember you?"

"Of course they will," she said.

Holding out her arm, she stopped me from moving, flipping me so that I was facing her directly. She made a point of not looking at me, even as she lifted up the sleeve of her shirt, displaying the triangle of black ink marked onto her skin.

It was uncomfortable to look at, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from it.

"Why are you showing me this?" I asked.

She covered her arm back up again. "Because you asked if they'd remember me."

"But you nearly killed me the last time I saw your tattoo," I said, "and yet you just showed it to me now."

"Well, you've already seen it," she frowned, resuming her walk through the busy street, "so there's no point in hiding it from you."

I had the sudden urge to grab her hand when her voice faltered, because something inside me rose when I heard the hurt in her voice. Not in a comforting way, but in a way that made me want to stop her from walking away for once and just have her talk to me. She didn't need to like me to talk to me, because at least I would listen.

But I knew she wouldn't, because she doesn't trust me.

"I'm sorry," I said, although I wasn't sure if I was apologizing for myself or for her parents.

She kept walking. "Stop saying you're sorry."

"But I am."

"If you were sorry, you would change, but you haven't, so just drop it."

Nodding my head, I decided not to say anything else. I didn't want to fight with her. We always fought, but now I was beginning to hate it, because actual feelings were involved. It wasn't blind hatred anymore. Someone was actually bound to get hurt.

According to Ash, her parents were living in an abandoned building on Harrismith Beach. It took a long while to get there, mostly us just walking in pensive silence, but soon we had our feet dragging through the rocky sand as we trudged towards our destination.

Once we reached the door, she stopped me, eyes still trained on the floor. I wish she could just look at me. I have no way of seeing what's happening in her mind now.

"Whatever happens in there," she whispered under her breath, "do nothing."

I furrowed my brows slightly. "Nothing?"

"I don't need you to defend me, and I don't need you to save me," she said, her voice sharp, "I know you're good at reading people, Partridge, so just stand there, listen, and read them."

"And what if they hurt you?"

"Then they hurt me," she said, "you of all people should know I'm used to it."

There was a slight edge to her voice, and I knew what she wanted to say. What she should have said. You of all people should know I'm used to it, because you were one of the people who hurt me. That's what she really meant.

But what could I apologize for? She wouldn't accept it even if I tried.

So the only thing I could do was do as she said, because maybe that would make up for it. Do nothing, read them, and listen. My regrets riddled in the partnership I formed with her. But now I'm finding myself regretting my own actions, not her.

Nearly drowning in my own revelations, I let the heavy air surround me as she slowly pushed open the stone door, the cool air of the building hitting our faces like wind. It should have been refreshing compared to the blistering Caribbean heat, but it only sent chills up my spine.

An abandoned castle on a beach—strange choice for the niche of the Ashes. There was nothing to burn here.

I knew nothing about the place we were walking into, but Ash seemed to know everything. I wondered if she just pretended to, and just went with her gut. I've been wondering a lot about her lately, and I know I shouldn't, but she's still written like a map—drawn out for the world to see, but still so hard to read.

Then again, these were her parents.

She knew them.

I stuck to her shadow, trailing behind her through rotting stone walls, the hairs on my skin standing up in alarm with every turn we took. I wasn't sure if I was prepared to defend myself or protect her first. But she said she didn't need protection. I'm not sure why that bothered me.

"Quiet," she said, stopping in front of a decaying door, "they're here."

Tell-tale signs of life were littered in the area we know stood, from the maniac laughter coming from behind the barrier separating us, as well as the soft glow of light protruding from underneath the cracks of the door.

"Are you okay?" I whispered.

She shrugged. "Define okay."

I opened my mouth to speak, but cut myself off when I saw her morph into another version of herself. Just like yesterday, she easily shape-shifted into someone else. That time she was nice, this time she was unreadable.

Her blank expression had hardened into one of anger, but her eyes seemed dim and void of emotion. Was this how she lived? Constantly changing her person to fit those around her?

I wondered who she became when she was around me.

I doubt it was her true self.

Putting the thoughts aside, I watched as she pressed the palm of her hand against the door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.

And we were basked in the light.

Somehow, it didn't feel warm at all.

"We've been expecting you," a voice said, shielded by the bright kitchen aura that was now blinding my view, "[y/n]."

It took me a moment to adjust to the change in scenery, but soon I was greeted by a presence of two villains sitting at a table, eyes furrowed and lips turned down.

Robert and Martha Ash—they looked just like her.

Daunting in the way they glared across the room, eyes darkened by the shadows of their own past; but it wasn't guilt. They wore it with pride, reveling in the way they could make people fear just by looking at them. I knew this, because when I took a step inside, they seemed to sense my hesitation.

"Martha," Ash said quietly, "Robert."

She addressed her parents by their first names.

No Mum? No Dad? She spoke to them like she worked for them, held back and shriveled up into her place in rank. No snarky remarks, no absurd confidence. I must have been mistaken when I said she became unreadable.

She just became controlled.

"Why are you here?" The man said sharply.

Ash stared at the floor. She didn't say anything.

"We asked you a question, [y/n]," he spat out, "don't waste our time."

For those who were known for their obsession of fire, I felt no warmth in the way they spoke to her. Their words were almost riddled in disgust, spitting on the person she was, and staring upon her like she was a...

Like she was mistake.

Hell.

I called her a mistake yesterday. That explains why she seemed so cold and hurt when those words left my mouth, because she had been treated that way her whole life. It made me want to grab time and twist it back, just to keep me from saying things I didn't mean. It made me want to snap at the two in front of us, and tell them that they were wrong about her.

But she said she didn't need to be defended.

Trust her, Louis.

"If you won't tell us why you've come to bother us, then explain who this is," Martha quipped, flickering her eye-line towards me, "never took you for the social kind, [y/n]."

Even though they were scanning me for every crook and cranny of information my persona could give them, I refrained from opening my mouth. Listen, she said, so I will.

"He's my associate," Ash said quietly, "that's all."

Robert frowned. "Associate?"

"Yes."

"Then perhaps he can tell us why you've decided to show up unannounced," the man scoffed, "since you clearly don't know how to speak."

Oh, how I wanted to strangle them.

"We're here for the truth," Ash said quickly. I knew she wanted to avoid all confrontations directed my way. "We just want to know what you know."

Martha pushed her hair behind her shoulders, leaning against the battered kitchen table as she eyed her daughter with impatience.

"How did you know I'd want to see you?" Ash added.

This time Robert spoke. "Because we know you, [y/n]."

"You can't survive without us," Martha continued, waving her hand, "we knew you'd come crawling back at one point."

I know I'm supposed to be reading them for information, but all I can think about is the best method for murder. I was filled with rage at the scene playing out before me. They 'knew her'? They seemed to know nothing. I couldn't believe she wore this mask of obedience for years, suffering under such horrible excuses for parents.

"I assume you're here about The Embers," the woman snapped, "finally found out?"

What?

They knew about them this whole time?

Ash looked just as shocked as I was—even though she didn't show it, I could see it through the way her eye twitched.

"Yes," she nodded, averting her gaze, "who are they?"

There was a silent pause in the crumbling kitchen of the Ash residence, and I wanted nothing more than to leave it entirely. I was trying my hardest to stick to the shadows and keep my mouth shut, but it was proving to be a difficult task.

Robert slowly stood up from his chair.

"They were created a long while ago," he explained distastefully, "family members of people we've killed, joined together in order to get their own form of revenge."

Revenge.

"They infiltrated our organization over the years, biding their time to tear our empire down, and they nearly did," he continued, "but your Mother and I were smarter than that."

Ash was silent.

"This woman," Robert said, "Millie, I believe, she had the guts to try and kill us about four years ago."

Ash's jaw clenched.

"But we were able to negotiate a deal."

A deal?

I shifted my stance, my hands clutched behind my back. I didn't like the way this conversation was going. Each word they said picked away at the mask Ash wore, and I noticed her breaking with every phrase. A flame slowly burning out. A candle out of wax. She was the last match in a matchbox, unable to keep the fire she lived by going.

"In exchange for our lives," her father said, a smirk twitching on the corner of his lips, "she could have yours."

And Ash's fire died out.

It explained everything she told me. It explained why Millie appeared right as her parents escaped to Barbados—not as a companion, but as a killer waiting for the right moment to strike. It explained why her parents spoke to her as if she was nothing, because in their eyes, she wasn't their daughter; she was only part of a deal.

I wanted to kill them for it.

I wanted to tear down their egos, and make them pay for all the Hell they put her through—hiding her from the world, making her feel worthless, marking her with a tattoo that she grew up to hate. She deserved better than this. She deserved better than two horrible parents and a man who constantly fought with her, because he just wouldn't listen to her.

I've never regretted anything more.

But I couldn't do anything but trust her. I pray it's enough.

I don't need you to defend me, she said, and I don't need you to save me.

"I'll admit it, [y/n]," Martha said, slowly making her way to the kitchen counter. She placed her hand on the drawer. "I'm surprised you made it out of that explosion alive."

Ash's shoulders tensed. "Explosion?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten already," the woman scoffed, "barely anything was left on that measly boat you smuggled yourselves onto."

Wait...

"How did you know about that?" Ash froze.

Her parents shared a glance, and then burst out laughing.

"An explosion that big is bound to be on the news," Robert chuckled, before his face fell into a smirk, "and besides, who do you think sent it?"

Those damn villains.

I remembered seeing the missile shooting through the sky, debating whether it was the SIS or The Embers who sent it after us. I should have been smarter. I should have noticed it. The SIS would never send a missile into uncharted territory and risk the deaths of innocent people. The Embers didn't seem to have any resources of their own.

So it was them all along.

"You tried to kill me," Ash choked out, taking a step back, "why?"

Martha rolled her eyes. "It's all part of the deal, honey."

"I'm your daughter."

"And you should be dead," the woman scoffed, "if The Embers know you went to see us, they'll kill us too."

"We're just ensuring our end of the deal," Robert added.

And from across the room, I watched as Martha Ash withdrew her hand from the kitchen drawer, displaying a sleek black pistol from the cabinet. I'd seen this play out too many times. First it was Ash with the gun when we met, then it was in the hands of my team in the trailer park, and then it was in Millie's hand.

I wasn't going to let her get hurt this time.

As the world slowed, Martha raised the weapon, pointed directly at the girl beside me. I felt myself take a step. I don't need you to defend me, Ash had told me, I don't need you to save me. But I didn't care anymore.

She was right—she didn't need me to protect her.

But I wanted to.

Fingers on the pistol, hope dangling loosely in the air, I felt no sense of peace as I extended my hand towards the girl, a million thoughts heading through my mind. She turned her head, locking eyes with me for what felt like a split second.

And then the trigger was pulled.

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I'm so excited for the next few chapters hehe