Steven’s POV

  The night air hit my face.

  For half a second, it almost worked—like the breeze could scrub the temple off my skin and put me back in my body.

  Then the warmth under my ribs swelled, slow and heavy, like my insides had finally decided to wake up.

  My legs went weird—too loose, like my muscles forgot how to lock in place.

  “Okay,” I panted. “Okay, that’s—yeah. Adrenaline crash. Normal.”

  It did not feel normal.

  I forced my feet forward anyway.

  The forest should’ve helped.

  Trees. Cool air. Space. The kind of quiet that usually reset my brain.

  Instead, the deeper I went, the more my body felt like it was… slipping.

  My feet kept moving because I told them to. That was the only reason. Like I was piloting myself from a distance—hands on invisible controls—while the rest of me melted down into heat and tremor and weak, loose limbs.

  Fang’s weight shifted under my hoodie, warm against my throat. He didn’t squirm. Didn’t panic.

  He just stayed there like he was braced for something I wasn’t ready to admit.

  “Almost there,” I muttered, though I had no idea if it was true.

  The path sloped and twisted the way it always did—roots like knuckles breaking through the dirt, tall pines turning the night into a tunnel. My lungs burned a little, but not from running. From trying to act like everything was fine.

  Because if I stopped moving, I’d have to feel it.

  And I was already feeling too much.

  The warmth under my ribs swelled again, slow and heavy, like a second heartbeat that didn’t match the rhythm of the rest of me. It wasn’t pain. It wasn’t sickness.

  It was something else. Something… deeper. Like my body had opened a door and didn’t know how to close it.

  I made it maybe halfway down the trail before my legs finally decided they were done pretending.

  The world tilted.

  Not dramatic. Not a full spin. Just a subtle, sick shift—like someone nudged the whole forest to the side and forgot to put it back.

  I reached for the nearest tree and caught it with both hands.

  My forehead hit bark.

  I stayed there, breathing hard, trying to convince my muscles to stop trembling like they’d just finished running a marathon.

  “Okay,” I whispered into the dark. “Okay. Just… breathe. That’s all.”

  Adrenaline crash.

  That was the word my brain kept clinging to like it was a life raft.

  My body didn’t care about my vocabulary.

  The heat rolled through me again, and my knees went soft.

  I slid down the tree without meaning to—just… sank, like my bones had turned to water and my skin was trying to hold me together.

  Fang pressed closer under the hoodie, a warm coil against my collarbone.

  “Don’t,” I told him automatically, because I thought he was moving.

  But he wasn’t. Not really.

  It was me.

  My eyes blinked once.

  Then—

  Nothing.

  ---

  When I came back, it was like waking up in the middle of a sentence.

  Cool air. Damp dirt. The smell of pine and smoke.

  Smoke.

  My eyes snapped open so fast it hurt.

  For a second, I didn’t know where I was. Then the memory slammed into place—fire, Katie screaming, Mom, the house—

  I pushed myself up too fast and immediately regretted it. My head swam. My stomach rolled.

  “How long—”

  My voice came out rough, barely there.

  I glanced around, searching for some kind of clue. My phone.

  I fumbled for it with numb fingers and stared at the screen until the numbers made sense.

  My throat went dry.

  No.

  No, no, no.

  I’d been out longer than I thought.

  Panic snapped through me like a wire being yanked tight. It cut right through the mushy warmth and lit my nerves up.

  I forced my legs under me, using the tree again, and stood.

  My knees wobbled like they’d forgotten how to be knees.

  “Okay,” I said, louder this time—like volume could bully my body into cooperating. “Okay. We’re going. We’re going right now.”

  I started down the trail again.

  Faster.

  Stumbling. Catching myself on branches. Slipping on leaves.

  Every time the warmth surged, my body lagged behind, like it had to process the sensation before it could remember movement again.

  My hoodie was too hot. The night was too cold. My heart was too loud.

  And the smoke smell got stronger.

  That was what scared me the most.

  Because it meant it wasn’t just in my head.

  ---

  When I finally broke through the tree line, the world opened up—wide and brutal and should have been lit by harsh, flashing red.

  Yet… the house wasn’t on fire anymore.

  The fire was… over.

  And somehow that felt worse.

  Because what was left wasn’t a house.

  It was a skeleton.

  Charred beams. Blackened walls. Wet ash steaming in the cool summer night. Firefighters moving through the wreckage with flashlights and helmets and clipped voices that sounded too calm for something that had just eaten my life.

  My chest tightened so hard I couldn’t pull a full breath.

  I stood there at the edge of the yard like my feet had rooted into the ground.

  My brain tried to reject the image.

  That’s not my house.

  That’s not—

  But it was.

  The roof deck—my roof deck—was still there. Not perfect, but standing. The corner where my room was… mostly intact, like the fire had hesitated there. Katie’s side too.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  But the kitchen…

  The kitchen was gutted.

  And above it—

  Mom’s room.

  The part over the kitchen wasn’t a room anymore. It was a hole. A black, open wound against the sky.

  My throat closed.

  I didn’t realize I was moving until my body was already doing it, crossing the yard with a weird, stiff urgency.

  Katie sat on the curb with a silver heat blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Her face was pale and blotchy from crying, and she looked smaller than she ever had in my life.

  Like the world had finally succeeded in breaking her.

  When she saw me, her eyes widened—relief, anger, something raw.

  “You—” she started, but her voice cracked.

  I dropped down beside her so fast my knees hit the ground.

  “I’m here,” I said, and my voice sounded wrong. Too calm. Too thin. “I’m here. I’m sorry. I—”

  A paramedic nearby glanced over immediately, like they’d been waiting for me to show up.

  Katie swallowed hard. “They kept asking where you were,” she said, quiet. “I told them you ran out looking for Fang because I didn’t know what else to say.”

  My stomach twisted.

  “I did,” I admitted, and it sounded stupid out loud.

  Katie’s eyes flicked to my hoodie. “Did you—”

  I didn’t answer. I just lifted the edge of my hood and unzipped my hoodie a few inches.

  Fang’s head peeked out, calm as ever, tongue flicking once like he was mildly offended to be disturbed.

  Katie froze.

  Then her whole face shifted—just for a heartbeat—into something that looked like relief.

  And then she clamped down on it so fast it was almost painful to watch.

  “Oh,” she said, flat, like it didn’t matter. Like her voice wasn’t shaking. “Great. So he’s… fine.”

  Fang blinked slowly.

  I almost laughed. Almost.

  Except my lungs still felt like they were full of smoke.

  “Yeah,” I said. “He’s fine.”

  The paramedic approached, a woman with tired eyes and a calm voice that had probably carried a lot of people through a lot of terrible nights.

  “Hey,” she said, crouching slightly to get on our level. “You Steven?”

  I nodded.

  She looked me over—too quickly, too professionally—like she was scanning for blood, burns, shock.

  “You hurt anywhere?” she asked.

  “No,” I said without hesitation. “I’m fine.”

  Her eyebrow lifted like she didn’t believe me.

  I didn’t blame her.

  I swallowed and added, “Just… adrenaline crash. You know.”

  “Mm.” She didn’t argue, but she reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle of water and a heat blanket. “Drink. And keep the heat blanket. You’re shaking.”

  “I’m not—” I started, but my hands chose that moment to tremble harder.

  Great.

  She held the water out anyway.

  I stared at it like it was an insult.

  I didn’t want to be handled. I didn’t want to look weak. I didn’t want anyone to treat me like I was the kid whose house just burned down and whose mother—

  I took the water just to make her go away.

  Then I set it beside Katie without drinking.

  The heat blanket I didn’t take at all.

  “I’m okay,” I repeated, like that was a spell that could protect me from reality.

  The paramedic’s gaze softened in a way I hated.

  She nodded once. “Okay. If you change your mind, we’re right over there.”

  She walked away.

  Katie watched her go, then whispered, “You look… weird.”

  “Thanks,” I muttered.

  “I’m serious,” she said, eyes narrowing. “Your face is—like you’re about to pass out.”

  “I’m not,” I lied.

  My body immediately disagreed with a fresh wave of warmth—heavy, pulsing, settling under my ribs like something had claimed that space.

  I clenched my jaw so hard it hurt.

  Not now.

  Not here.

  Not in front of everyone.

  A man in a firefighter jacket approached. He had soot on his sleeves and the kind of posture that looked like it had learned to stay steady in chaos.

  He crouched near us like the paramedic had, but his voice was different—more blunt. More direct.

  “Steven?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “I’m Frank,” he said, holding a business card in his hands. “I’m the one who did the first sweep.”

  My heart kicked hard.

  I hated how fast I leaned forward. Like my body had been starving for information.

  Frank’s eyes flicked toward the wreckage, then back to me.

  “We’re still going through it,” he said carefully. “But we didn’t see signs of an accelerant. No obvious source. Could’ve been electrical, could’ve been something that sparked and ran fast through the kitchen.”

  Katie sucked in a breath.

  My stomach dropped.

  “The kitchen…” I whispered.

  Frank nodded once. “It took the hardest hit. Heat was concentrated there.”

  My mouth went dry. “My mom—”

  Frank’s face didn’t change, but his eyes softened a fraction.

  “We didn’t find anyone,” he said.

  The words didn’t land right at first.

  Didn’t find… anyone?

  I stared at him like he’d spoken a different language.

  Katie’s fingers tightened around her heat blanket, knuckles white.

  “But she was—” Katie started, voice breaking. “She had to be in the kitchen. She was always in there.”

  Frank held up a hand gently, not dismissive—just steady.

  “I hear you,” he said. “But as of right now… there’s no body in the wreckage.”

  My brain tried to leap to the worst place immediately.

  Burned to—

  No.

  I shook my head once like I could physically shake the thought out.

  No.

  No, she couldn’t be—

  My throat worked, but no sound came out.

  Frank glanced between me and Katie like he could see the exact moment I stopped functioning.

  “I’m going to keep looking,” he said. “We’re going to document everything. If anything changes—anything at all—you’ll hear it from me.”

  He held out the business card.

  I took it with fingers that didn’t feel like mine.

  The card said:

  Frank Turner

  Fire Investigator

  And a number.

  And suddenly that number felt like the only rope between me and falling completely apart.

  “Thank you,” I managed.

  Frank nodded. “Do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”

  I glanced at Katie.

  She was looking at me like I’d suddenly become older than I actually was. Like she needed me to decide what happened next because she couldn’t.

  My chest tightened again.

  “No, sir,” I said, forcing my voice steady. “We’re good.”

  Frank didn’t look convinced.

  I added, “I’ll… I’ll be expecting your call. And I’ll let you know where we’re settled in case anyone needs to reach me.”

  That sounded like something an adult would say.

  I didn’t feel like an adult.

  Frank studied my face for a long beat, then nodded once.

  “Okay,” he said. “Hang in there.”

  Then he stood and walked away, back into the flashing lights and the wet ash.

  One by one, the first responders began to pack up. Trucks rumbled. Radios crackled. Boots stomped through mud.

  And the yard slowly got quieter.

  Too quiet.

  The kind of quiet that comes after something dies.

  I looked at Katie.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said, because I needed something to do. Something that wasn’t staring at our burned house until my brain finally accepted it.

  Katie nodded slowly, still wrapped in the heat blanket like it was the only thing keeping her together.

  I stood, even though my legs protested.

  “Come on,” I said softly. “We’re going to the café.”

  I kept my shoulders squared on purpose. Kept my breathing even.

  Because the heat kept swelling under my ribs, and I could feel my body threatening to fold again—and I couldn’t let that happen in front of Katie.

  “They close soon,” Katie murmured, like that mattered.

  “I know.”

  My chest throbbed again—like something inside me didn’t like that word impossible.

  Another deep throb rolled under my ribs. Not my heart—something lower, heavier—like my body had its own opinion about that word.

  I pressed a palm to my chest to steady myself.

  My fingers scraped against the burn on my hand—

  and I froze.

  The sting was gone.

  I lifted my hand under the streetlight and stared.

  The skin was still pink and angry around the edges… but it wasn’t raw anymore. It wasn’t blistering. It looked like it had been healing for days, not hours.

  My stomach dipped.

  “That’s… not possible,” I whispered.

  ---

  At the base of the hill, where the trail met the street, headlights washed over us.

  A car pulled up slowly.

  It was the café worker—the one who always looked half-asleep behind the counter but somehow remembered everyone’s order.

  “Hey,” she called through the window, voice hesitant. “Katie? Steven? I… I heard what happened. My manager said you guys could come sit at the café if you need. I can drive you.”

  Katie didn’t answer.

  She just climbed into the back seat like her body had stopped taking instructions from her brain.

  I opened the back door and slid in.

  The warmth under my ribs pulsed again—slow, deep.

  My whole body felt heavy, like gravity had doubled.

  I pulled my hoodie tighter and kept my voice steady when I said, “Thank you.”

  The café worker nodded, eyes flicking to Fang’s hidden shape under my hoodie, from the review mirror, but she didn’t ask questions.

  She just drove.

  Streetlights passed overhead in quiet intervals. The car hummed. The heater blew warm air that should’ve helped.

  It didn’t.

  My eyes kept wanting to close.

  My head kept dipping.

  I fought it, because sleeping felt dangerous right now—like if I shut my eyes, I might open them and find out everything was worse.

  But the crash pulled at me anyway, soft and insistent.

  Katie’s breathing next to me slowed.

  She had fallen asleep.

  I should’ve been relieved.

  Instead, it made my chest ache.

  I stared out the window and tried to focus on anything that wasn’t the image of the kitchen collapsed into black.

  My phone buzzed in my hand, and I realized I was still holding it like I’d forgotten how to put it away.

  I forced my thumb to move and dialed Aqua.

  One ring.

  Two.

  Three.

  “Steven?” her voice came through, and it was warm and clear and real in a way that made my throat tighten.

  “Aqua,” I said. “Can we… meet up at the café right now? It’s important.”

  Silence.

  Not empty silence—listening silence.

  Like she’d held her breath.

  “Is everything okay?” Aqua asked softly, and the concern in her voice felt like it reached right into my chest and squeezed.

  “I’ll tell you everything at the café,” I said. “I’ll see you soon.”

  Another beat of quiet.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’ll be there.”

  The call ended.

  I lowered the phone.

  I’d held it together all night—until the car got warm and quiet. Then it all rushed in.

  My hand shook.

  The warmth surged again—bigger this time, spreading under my ribs like something stretching awake.

  My vision blurred for a second.

  I blinked hard and swallowed.

  “You’re fine,” I whispered, barely audible. “You’re fine. Just… sit here. Just breathe.”

  Under my hoodie, Fang shifted.

  Then—

  I heard it.

  Not with my ears.

  Inside my head.

  A voice. Smooth and calm, like it had been waiting politely for me to stop panicking.

  Steven.

  My entire body locked.

  Every hair on my arms stood up.

  I went cold despite the heater.

  I didn’t breathe.

  I stared straight ahead at the road like if I moved my eyes, something would be there.

  “What—” I tried to speak, but my throat barely worked. “What was that?”

  Fang’s head pressed lightly against my collarbone under the hoodie.

  You heard me, the voice said.

  My heart slammed against my ribs.

  I whipped my gaze downward, lifting the edge of my hoodie with trembling fingers.

  Fang looked up at me.

  Normal Fang eyes. Normal Fang tongue flick.

  Snake.

  And yet—

  Steven, the voice repeated, patient.

  My mouth opened.

  No sound came out.

  The world tilted again—not like before.

  Like reality itself had shifted sideways.

  “You can… talk?” I whispered. “You can—why now? Have you been able to—this whole time?”

  Fang blinked once, slow.

  Not like this, the voice answered.

  My breath came shallow.

  “Then why?” I demanded, barely holding it together. “Why now?”

  A pause.

  Then Fang’s voice came again, steady as a heartbeat:

  Because you are a Salvatore.

  I didn’t even process the words at first.

  Salvatore.

  My last name.

  My family.

  My dad.

  The things I didn’t want to think about.

  The warmth under my ribs pulsed again, almost approving.

  I stared at Fang, shaking.

  “No,” I whispered. “No, that doesn’t—what does that even mean?”

  Fang didn’t move.

  His gaze stayed on mine like he’d always known the answer.

  You need sleep, Fang’s voice said gently.

  My eyelids felt suddenly too heavy.

  My head dipped.

  I fought it.

  “I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t sleep. Not right now.”

  Fang’s tongue flicked.

  Good night, Steven.

  And the warmth surged one last time—soft, deep, final—

  like a hand pressing down on my consciousness.

  My eyes closed.