The front door's hot to the touch, even through the slush, and I brace myself before shoving through, its hinges groaning loudly in molten protest. The second I step inside, the heat slams into me like a wall, heavy and suffocating. I grit my teeth and push forward, trying not to breathe too deeply as I scan the room. The smoke is everywhere, swirling around like thick fog, and there's this weird red light glowing in patches across the walls and floors-the same color as yesterday's trash fire. I don't even know where to start looking for the source, but it feels like the whole room is bleeding heat from some central point, radiating out.
Jordan steps in behind me, eyes narrowed as they take in the scene. They stretch out a hand, and I know they're using their power to expand the space, giving everyone a little more room to move. The ceiling lifts, stretching upward until it feels like we're in some surreal cathedral of smoke, with columns of white billowing up toward the roof. People are stumbling toward the back door, but there's too many of them, pushing and jostling each other in a panic. I can hear someone crying, a couple of people coughing, and the general clamor of too many people and not enough air.
Everyone's panicking, pushing toward the back door in a frantic cluster, clearly seconds away from trampling each other in a bid to escape. I catch glimpses of faces through the haze, wide-eyed and coughing, some of them with tiny scrapes and cuts from where they've probably stumbled into tables or each other. There's blood-small amounts, but enough to trigger my blood sense, pinging like tiny radar blips all around the room.
The ceiling rises, expanding upward, the walls pulling back like the room itself is taking a deep breath. The space widens, giving everyone more room to breathe, less chance of being crushed in the crush.
The crowd starts to calm down a bit, some of them realizing there's more room now, that they don't have to shove and push. Jordan's still concentrating, beads of sweat starting to form at their temple. Their power isn't effortless, and I doubt doing it with a room full of fire is easier than normal.
"Go!" they yell over the noise, gesturing toward the back door. "There's space! Take it slow, one at a time!"
I turn to the closest group of people, waving them toward the back. "Alright, everybody, single file if you can manage it. Just follow the person in front of you and keep moving!" I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the roaring in my ears.
The heat's worse as I make my way deeper into the room, closer to the core of the fire. My fingers ache, and I can feel the throbbing under my nails, a reminder that whatever's going on here is worse than it looks. I sweep my gaze around, relying on my blood sense to pick up any traces of injuries more serious than the scrapes and bruises everyone else has.
It's so hard to focus. It's just so red in here, that it feels hard to differentiate from my blood sense. That's... a complication I didn't ever think could happen. Still, when I shut my eyes, I can see them - someone in bad shape.
The smoke stings my eyes, but I follow the faint trail of red in my mind, weaving through the scattered tables and chairs. There's a woman slumped against one of the back booths, half-hidden by a tipped-over table and the billowing white smoke that smells like rotten garlic. Blood is trickling from her forehead, painting a dark streak down her cheek, and her eyes are closed, her face pale under the mask of soot and sweat.
"Hey, you with me?" I crouch down next to her, keeping my voice low and steady. I can hear her breathing, shallow but there, and I reach out, carefully shaking her shoulder. She doesn't respond, and my heart rate kicks up a notch as I try to gauge how bad it is.
"Jordan!" I shout over my shoulder, but they're already busy directing the last of the crowd toward the exit, their hands raised to keep the walls stretched outward. I don't want to pull them away when they're handling things so well, but I need to get this woman out of here, and she's dead weight in my arms.
The fires are spreading, little pockets of orange flaring up along the edges of the red. The air's getting thicker, harder to breathe, and every breath I take feels like it's coated in some bitter chemical residue. The metallic smell from the red flames is stronger up close, and it reminds me of blood in a way that makes my stomach churn.
I brace myself and lift the woman, heaving her onto my shoulder as gently as I can. She's not light, but adrenaline's working in my favor, and I'm able to carry her toward the door without too much trouble. Jordan meets me halfway, their gaze flicking from the woman's bleeding head to my face, and there's a question there, but I shake my head.
They nod, taking her from me and guiding her toward the exit, their power still holding the space around us wide and open. I can see the strain on their face, the effort it's taking to keep everything stretched out like this, but they don't let up, even as the flames creep closer.
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The sprinklers overhead are silent, and that feels wrong in a way I can't explain. I glance up, squinting through the smoke, and spot the broken nozzles, smashed or melted-it's hard to tell through the haze. Whoever set this up wanted to make sure there'd be no chance of putting the fire out easily, which means they're either an idiot or someone who really wanted this place to burn.
Jordan's voice snaps me back to the present. "Bee, we're running out of time. I can't hold this forever."
"I know." I grit my teeth, scanning the room one last time. Most of the people have made it out, but there's still a few stragglers-some huddling by the windows, others just staring blankly at the flames, too shocked or scared to move. I shout at them, urging them toward the back door, and finally they start to stumble forward, their faces pale and dazed.
The red fires are spreading, lapping at the edges of tables and chairs, turning the polished wood to charred splinters. I can feel the heat biting at my skin, even through the slush and my jacket, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to get out, to get away from the fire that's closing in around us.
But there's still one last person in here, bleeding and unconscious, and I can't leave them.
Jordan winds out through the kitchen with the last group of civilians, the walls slowly snapping back to their usual cramped dimensions as they keep their power steady, guiding everyone out. But the second Jordan steps past the door, the flames leap up behind the counter, catching like kindling and spreading fast. I watch the walls snap back around me, every inch of space shrinking, tightening, until it feels like the room is trying to squeeze me out.
I'm alone. And the fire's spreading.
The girl I just rescued is slumped against the wall, and I know if I don't get us both out in the next few seconds, I'll be as good as toasted. The air's so thick it feels like I'm breathing in syrup, and every gasping breath is getting harder, burning with every inhale. My winter coat is close to smoldering; I can smell the synthetic fibers searing, that acrid scent threading through the thick smoke.
In a dazed, half-panicked kind of calm, I drop to my knees and gingerly lay her on the ground. I can feel my fingers tingling, that same familiar pain spiking beneath my nails, but I shove it down, focusing on what I need to do next.
One more tooth, I think. I push down on my elbow, and my teeth shift under the skin, growing sharper, harder, until I feel the bite of bone slicing through flesh, right at the elbow. A sharp, curved tooth juts out, ready to use like a tool, and I grit my teeth against the wave of pain that follows. No time for nerves. This is the only way out that won't lead straight through a wall of fire.
I angle the tooth against the front window of the coffee shop, eyeing the warped glass. Heat's already taken a toll on it, softened it, but it's thick, Philadelphia-grade impact-resistant glass-designed to handle anything from a stray baseball to a full-force fistfight outside. Breaking through this is going to take everything I've got.
I raise my elbow and slam the tooth against the glass. The impact reverberates up my arm, rattling every bone and sending a shock of pain straight to my shoulder. The first hit leaves nothing. Just a faint smear where the tooth struck. I bite down, tasting blood as I brace myself, ignoring the blaze roaring closer, licking at my heels.
The second hit connects, and a single white crack blooms, a tiny hairline fracture that spiders out for just an inch. But it's something. My arm's shaking with the effort, and I barely feel my fingers anymore, the tooth digging in too deep, but I wind up one more time.
The third hit causes a spiderweb of cracks to stretch across the glass, each line fracturing outward in tiny jagged patterns, weakening the whole pane. Just one more, I tell myself, choking on the bitter air. I can feel the heat getting worse, licking at my jacket, and the smell of melting rubber fills my head. I don't have the time to think.
The fourth hit shatters the window. Glass splinters outward in a sharp, crystalline rain, leaving a hole just big enough for us to crawl through. The fresh rush of air makes the flames leap higher, a hungry blaze that roars up as though someone threw fuel on it. The fire rages up toward the ceiling, hotter, angrier, more alive, like it's trying to block me from getting out.
Fat chance.
I grit my teeth, ignoring the blood on my sleeve, and carefully lift the girl into my arms again, cradling her as best I can. There's no diving through the opening like they do in movies-just a slow, careful step over the broken glass, keeping her close and tight against me to shield her from the jagged edges. Each step out into the open feels like I'm wading through molasses, my lungs burning, my head pounding, but the rush of cold February air on the other side is a relief so sharp it almost hurts.
The fire engine pulls up just as I stumble out, lights flashing, sirens blaring, and the firefighters are already leaping out, moving toward me with focused, efficient motions. One of them reaches out, and I hand over the girl without a word, watching them carry her toward safety, away from the flames that are still raging behind me.
And then I just... collapse. Right there on the wet sidewalk, gasping for air, trying to cough out the taste of smoke and chemicals that's still coating the back of my throat. The cold concrete presses against me, grounding me, reminding me that I'm out, that I made it, even if it feels like every nerve in my body is still screaming.
The firefighters are too busy with the blaze to notice me, sprawled out and coughing, and I take that as a small mercy. I can feel the ache in my bones, the sting in my throat, and the steady throb of pain beneath my fingernails, like a reminder of every terrible thing that just happened.
I close my eyes, letting the chill of the pavement seep into me as I try to calm my racing pulse, the noise of the fire and sirens fading into the background.