I couldn't sleep after she appeared. I barely blinked.
Every creak outside made me sit up. Every flash of light sent me to the window. I kept thinking she'd come back—tell me more. Take me somewhere. Burn everything down.
But she didn't. She left me in the silence, with only two truths:
1. She knew my father.
2. He wasn't who I thought he was.
⸻
A week passed. The rumors around school faded. People forgot. That's what they do—they move on. But I couldn't. Not when the fire inside me was growing stronger by the day.
It responded to emotion. Anger made sparks crackle from my fingers. Fear made the air around me go hot and thick. I didn't need matches to light candles anymore. I just thought about fire, and it came.
I had to stay in control. One wrong moment and someone would get hurt. So, I stopped hanging around people. I skipped art class. I stopped answering texts.
And still, it grew.
⸻
One evening, Mom came home with tired eyes and fast steps.
She slammed the door. "We're leaving."
I looked up from my sketchbook. "What?"
She grabbed a bag from under the bed. "I don't feel safe here anymore."
"Because of me?"
She didn't answer.
That said everything.
I stood slowly. "You knew something was wrong with me."
She avoided my eyes. "Not wrong. Just… different. Since you were a baby. You always stared at flames too long. They never scared you."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you to turn out like him."
My heart dropped. "Like Dad?"
She finally looked at me. "Your father wasn't a hero, Ember. He wasn't even human by the end."
⸻
The silence between us boiled.
I stepped back. "You lied."
"I protected you."
"No, you hid the truth. You let me think he abandoned us!"
She flinched but didn't speak. I grabbed my hoodie and stormed out before I lost control.
The air outside was thick. Storm clouds hung low, thunder growling in the distance. I walked with my hands in my pockets, fists burning from the inside out.
That's when the thing attacked.
It dropped from the roof like a nightmare—eight feet tall, made of black smoke and muscle, with jagged arms and no face. Just eyes—four of them—glowing red.
I didn't think. I didn't scream.
I ignited.
The flames came instantly, surging from my hands like they were always waiting. They circled me, lifted me, wrapped me in heat and light.
The creature lunged.
I struck with fire so hot it turned the air white.
It screamed, staggered back—and vanished in a hiss of smoke.
I stood in the street, chest heaving, the pavement scorched beneath my feet.
And for the first time in my life…
I wasn't afraid of the fire.
I was the fire.