Hi! This is Bottled Embers.
Did you know that you can get these episodes delivered straight to your inbox? If that sounds amazing, click here (it’s free!):
INDEX | Chapter 12 | Scene 1 | Scenes 2 & 3 | Scenes 4 & 5 | Scenes 6 & 7 | Scene 8 | Scenes 9 & 10 | Scenes 11 - 13 | Scenes 14 - 16 | Scenes 17 & 18 |Next Scene → Coming soon.
Previously: Logan and Misty’s training is going well when they get a message from Luke urging them to lie low as the Minister is pressuring the Planetary guard to find her.
Practicing Forms has always calmed me. The steady movements and precision it takes to get them right are something I can control when everything else is spiraling.
The blindfold makes me think twice, though. Not that I haven’t been second guessing this whole thing from the start.
Logan is so trusting. I wish it were that easy for me. I wish that the stupid piece of cloth, and the surrender it represents, didn’t make my stomach twist like it wants to turn itself inside out.
I wish that it didn’t remind me of when James put me in the tank so he could experiment until I could taste toxins in my food, or when he stripped away my sight to refine my hearing.
This is different. I remind myself silently, repeating the mantra I’ve said a hundred times since we got here. If it’s important to Logan—he’s the trainer—don’t question.
I take the black cloth from his hand. My fingers trembling as trust grates against control, like always. Tying it over my eyes feels like stepping off a cliff.
And as I take that stride, the memories come crashing.
My father who taught me.
My big sister Kayten.
Chrys and I used this same method to practice in our dark little cells. It’s simple once you get the hang of it—trusting someone else’s senses.
Logan wants to learn, thinking we can do some kind of battle sync like his Deity. Why not? It’s not like it takes a deep connection. Just sensation and trust. More trust.
I try not to let my frustration reach him. I push down the nausea that the word itself induces. The bond doesn’t lie, but maybe he’ll be distracted enough by the physical side of it.
And Forms have always calmed me. Focus on that.
Logan’s natural rhythm seems to compliment mine, with one or two tweaks. It is all going well, though he tends to rush ahead, trying to take the lead himself as if we were dancing. I can feel him reminding himself to follow instead. It makes me smile.
But as the comm pings, everything shatters.
Logan jolts, plucking off his blindfold. Even with mine still in place the sudden light makes me blink before I take it off.
Luke’s message starts my heart racing and my head along with it. I let myself sink down on the nearest rock, all but gasping for breath to slow it down.
It’s because I panicked and stalled Logan’s powerup. It’s because I’ve been holding my own level this high for so long. They have energy tracking tech—energy user soldiers that could lead the search. It’s only a matter of time before they find this place. Logan and Luke will suffer if I run.
If I let them take me they’ll use Cathy again. The thought alone sends a shiver down my spine.
Logan kneels beside me, his expression a mix of dread and determination as he takes my hands. “Maybe we should go inside,” he says. I follow like a lamb.
***
“We’ll take it slow,” Logan reassures me, holding both my hands as the logs crackle in the cabin’s fireplace beside us. His voice is calm, careful. “There’s still time, so no need to rush.”
Kneeling on the living room’s mat, I force myself to nod, even though I know he’s lying. Luke’s message means our time is up, if it isn’t already too late. I have to get my energy level down. I have to get the regen under control. I don’t want to think about what will happen if I can’t.
Logan’s touch is steady, grounding. He’s convinced that if we fully sync up again like we did after our 5G sparring match went so wrong, his naturally regulated energy regeneration will reset mine.
It did that time, it should work again. And if we can get it right it might be a way to solve my problem whenever we need to.
But doing it would mean letting him in, all the way. He’d understand everything. All the that fears I’ve been hiding.
I’ve been scared of it since the party—since that anger erupted out of nowhere, raw and uncontrollable. I blamed myself at first, but then what Cathy said got me thinking. And I’ve been thinking about Chrys a lot.
What if she isn’t dead? What if she’s been trying to reach me all along?
What if she isn’t my Chrys anymore, and they’re using her to track me down?
What if Logan reacts badly? Or something between us breaks because of this.
I can’t lose him.
Logan waits, giving me the space to speak first, but the words tangle in my throat while the silence stretches. Finally, he says, “Misty, we don’t have to do this tonight. If you’re not ready—”
“No.” The word tumbles out, sharper than I meant. My hands clench then unclench as I force myself to meet his gaze. “No. Let’s do it. Ready.” As I’ll ever be. He’ll understand soon enough.
I try to clear my mind.
His eyes never leave mine. I know he can sense my hesitation. But he doesn’t push. He just nods and shifts closer. His calm makes it harder to stay in me head, easier for the fear to creep in.
I stare at him. His bodysuit glistens in the firelight. The way it clings to his skin, highlighting each muscle and sinew, accentuating every line of his frame, gives me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. It’s distracting.
Focus, Misty.
“Okay,” he smiles squeezing my hands. “You go as low as you can, then I’ll match you. We sync up and go from there.”
I return his warm smile, nod and take a breath, forcing the air into my lungs. Closing my eyes, I focus on his pulse, his breathing—both slower than mine. His rising body temperature and energy level. He’s almost at the point of transformation. Am I really still that high?
I concentrate on lowering my output, slowly closing off the flow—pushing it down. The regeneration pushes back, but it takes time for the corrosion to set in. It’ll only start to hurt in the morning.
Our connection opens slowly, hesitantly, like a half-forgotten rhythm. As we get closer to perfect sync, I reach for his presence, feeling the familiar tether take shape between us.
“Good,” Logan murmurs. “Just let it settle.”
But it doesn’t settle. It roils beneath the surface, restless, like waves crashing against the shore. I try to push it down, to smooth the jagged edges, but the harder I try, the more it fights back.
“It’s okay,” Logan says, his voice steady through the bond. “You’re thinking too much. Don’t force it. Just let it be.”
I want to believe him, but my chest tightens at the edge of something… wrong. I’m probably imagining it. It’s got to be me, or Logan. It’s this anxiety.
Try again. I remind myself. Start over. Synchronize. Let Logan form the bond. Feel his energy. Surrender to it.
There he is.
But it’s not just him…
…
And now he knows.
I can’t hold back the guilt as his understanding dawns, and he recoils.
“Logan,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “There’s—”
He looks away. The sync wavers, flickering, then closes.
“I should have told you.”
“You want to go back? To that hell hole?!” Logan shouts, his voice cracking like a whip as he paces the length of the room. His golden hair bristles with energy as the static crackles around him, muting the flickering fire I’m staring at.
“I have to.” I say softly, pushing my fists into my lap while I sink deeper into the couch, the weight of my words pulling me down.
“No, Misty. You don’t. You’re here. We’ll figure this PG thing out. We’ll find a way for you to have a life—” He shakes his head, his unrelenting steps punctuated by the storm around him.
“But Chrys—” I look up, as he stops in his tracks, turning to glare at me. I wish in vain that he’d calm down a bit.
“Look.” His tone sharpens, cutting me off. “I know Chrys meant a lot to you. But they got her. They’ve had three times as long to mess her up as they had with you! She’s not who you remember her to be. You have to accept that she’s not your Chrys anymore.”
“But she has to be." I whisper, holding onto the memory of her distant presence in the sync. It sure felt like her.
Logan’s laugh is bitter, as he throws his arms wide. His derision stings more than it should. "She can't be. Not after—".
"We had a mission.” I interrupt, my voice quiet but insistent, rising with the tide of the emotions I’ve tried to suppress. “When we ran away it wasn’t for ourselves. It was for a cause— to save our people. Yes, we were kids, naive, reckless, but we had a plan, and there were people who would have helped us. It was organized. Chrys was willing to give up everything—her family, her crown, her future, her position—”
“Wait what?” Logan’s pacing halts again, his head snapping toward me.
“On Telera, when you’re Talented your whole life is laid out from birth—”
“No. You said her crown?” he presses, stepping closer.
I sigh rubbing the back of my neck. “She was the princess. Next in line.”
“You never told me that,” he says, his voice dropping into a quieter, more dangerous register.
“It didn’t matter when she was dead,” I reply, frustration bubbling in my chest.
“Well, it matters now.”
"How?" I throw my arms up, “How does it matter?”
"It changes everything."
* * *
When I asked for this meeting, I never expected to be seeing the actual Minister of Planetary Governance himself.
Misty told me about Minister Liebenberg. This is technically her boss. Or her boss’ boss. Seems Luke was able to pull some strings after all, even though he can’t be here himself.
The minister’s office exudes cold authority—bookshelves packed with volumes that are probably never read, a desk so pristine it seems ornamental rather than practical. Misty sits across from the Minister of Planetary Governance, her posture impeccable, her hands tightly clasped in her lap. The tension radiates off her in waves, but she doesn’t let it show on her face.
Standing a few steps behind, I watch closely, arms crossed, resolved to only step in if things go south. She wanted this to be her negotiation. I have to trust her to handle it.
But the smug boredom coming off of this guy really gets under my skin. He’s gotta be of some African descent—big, dark skinned, shaved head. His dark blue suit looks like it was painted on. The placard on the desk reads Mandla.
The minister leans forward slightly, his thick lips curling back to reveal an ivory grin.
“Miss Elle,” he offers his formal greeting in a gruff baritone. “I’ve been briefed on your offer, though I must say it is bold to say the least. I hope you can live up to it.”
Misty’s reply is as calm and measured as ever. “I assure you, my intelligence, though outdated should still be accurate and if it’s not, I have means to obtain updates as soon as I reach their sphere of influence.”
Mandla’s brow furrows. “Once you reach?” He doesn’t believe her.
“Crown Princess Lia is alive. We had a bond, before. I believe that if I can reconnect with her, she will be willing to treat with me in exchange for your assistance with overthrowing the current regime.”
He leans back, considering Misty’s claims, his expression hardening. “And if you’re wrong?”
“You lose nothing. My information is still valuable as a starting point.”
“And in exchange?”
Misty takes a steadying breath. “Luke McKeen’s full exoneration, and release from all contractual obligations to the Planetary Guard.” Her tone tightens, but she continues. “As well as my voluntary deportation.”
My gut twists as she says it, but I keep my face neutral.
The minister’s eyes narrow. “Deportation is a serious penalty. You’re aware of the constraints? The lack of access, the restrictions you’d face under our oversight?”
“I’m aware.”
“And yet you still choose exile?”
Misty nods gravely, barely glancing in my direction.
“I want off your planet. You want me off of it. Our goals are aligned, and the information I have will serve you, in either diplomacy or war.”
The minister folds his hands, studying her. “Isn’t this treason where you’re from? Why would you offer this to me?”
“The current power structure in the Blue Solar System is tyrannous. The princess is tired of watching her people suffer—as I have.”
“And how do I know this isn’t an elaborate ploy? That your ‘intelligence’ isn’t as fabricated as the story McKeen offered the Planetary Guard when he brought you home with him eight years ago.”
“You don’t, but it intrigued you enough to meet with me.” She smirks and the minister stiffens, his dark eyes flickering with a mix of suspicion and intrigue.
I suppress the wince her smirk induces. She’s poking the bear, while we’re stuck in his cage. The minister’s fingers drum the desk, each beat a measure of his rising ire, but she relents before he can interject, continuing smoothly. “Luke can already corroborate my account. You can verify my claims with him directly. I’m also willing to allow one observer to oversee the exchange and confirm my compliance.”
The minister’s fingers still as his irritation fades into calculation.
“And this ‘reconnection’ with the princess—it’s only possible after your arrival in Teleran territory?”
“Yes,” Misty says. “Any bond we might restore requires proximity.”
His calculating gaze flickers to me. “And you, Mr. No’Gard? Do you endorse this arrangement?”
I push off the wall, meeting his eyes evenly. “I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get screwed over. That’s the extent of my endorsement.”
The minister’s thin smile returns. “A vigilant partner. How reassuring.” He stands, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “You’ll provide a preliminary report by the week’s end. If your intelligence proves viable, we will discuss the terms further. In the meantime, both of you will remain under surveillance. Any deviation from our conditions will nullify this agreement.”
Misty rises, extending her hand. “Understood.”
There’s a brief pause before he shakes it, his large dark fingers closing firmly around her slender milky ones. “Then we have a tentative accord.”
As we step into the corridor, the door shutting firmly behind us, I grab her arm—gently, but with a grip that tightens as my heart screams what I can’t say aloud. “You don’t have to do this, Misty.”
She looks up at me, her silver eyes are steady, filled with resolve and a flicker of distant sadness, but their reply is unmistakable. “Yes, Logan. I do.”
Next Time: As the family prepares to leave on their long journey, Logan decides to thcrow Misty a birthday pacty.
If you enjoyed this episode, and know someone else who might like it too — do me a favor and help me get the word out:
and as always, I love hearing what you think so, feel free to:
Author’s Notes:
Hi everyone.
Not much in the way of notes today. Sorry. The last few weeks have been rough. Plus we’re so close to being on the way to hospital to deliver a new family member. We’re counting in days now. Wish us luck.
Until next week. Happy speculating.
- Jenny*
Thanks for reading!
Remember, I love comments, and I love to hear about anything this piece made you feel. I’m always super happy to chat about anything BE related.
Also, if you want to support this project, don’t forget to like with that little heart 💓 down below and share ♻️!!
Until next time.
P.S.
The Sci-Friday tags. I think most of the guys and gals are ignoring them so I’m not including everyone—only
since he sends us the digest anyway.😉 Thanks for that.- J*
Best of luck to you Jenny. ❤️
Wow Jenny, fast moving events with you here, both on the page and In Real Life!!! I wish you an easy delivery and a healthy baby girl to join your blessed family!
I do have one question or comment more correctly...Misty opens up the sync with Logan and shows him someone or something that changes everything...but the leap from fugitive hiding to an interview with the top of the food chain leaves considerable detail vague and mysterious. It also introduces a new chain of command that apparently bypassed Morgan and company completely! You are being oh so cagy and cruel, but I'm hoping that you will ease my pain before this volume reaches its conclusion! Of course, that leaves a whole universe of story potential that just itches to get told 😳😲👍!!!