The school auditorium feels alien after hours. The rows of chairs, usually filled with restless teenagers, sit empty, their shadows stretched long across the polished floor. A makeshift command center dominates the stage, cluttered with fire department equipment, scattered binders, and a large foldout map of the city pinned to an easel. I hesitate at the entrance, feeling like an intruder in a space that's both familiar and completely foreign.

Fury Forge spots me before I have a chance to announce myself. She's crouched by a crate of what looks like fire suppression gear, her muscular frame seeming even more imposing in the dim light. She straightens up, wiping her hands on her flame-resistant jumpsuit. Her red-and-black uniform has a few new scorch marks since the last time I saw her, and the faint smell of burnt rubber lingers around her.

"Mrs. Forge!" I call out, waving, pretending to not be aware of the fact that we are, in a sense, teammates.

"Girlie," she calls back, her voice carrying easily across the empty seats. "Didn't expect to see any students in here. Thought you'd all be off doing algebra or whatever it is teenagers pretend to care about these days."

I manage a half-smile as I navigate between the rows. "I finished algebra last year. We're into geometry now. Big leagues."

She snorts, folding her arms over her chest. "Geometry, huh? Useful stuff. You know, firefighting's all about angles. Sometimes you've got to figure out just the right trajectory to knock down a door or get a hose line where it needs to be."

"Yeah," I say, though my heart's not in it. My eyes are drawn to the map on the easel, where little red pins dot the city in an uneven pattern. Each one represents a fire, I realize. Each one represents... Aaron? No way. These are all over Philly - how would he have had the time?

Fury Forge follows my gaze, her expression hardening. "Got your message from the dispatcher," she says quietly, then raises her voice back to normal volume as a technician passes behind us. "Wish I could've been here sooner. Professor Poppet kept us busy longer than we'd planned. And even with him in custody, it's not exactly quiet out there."

"How so?" I ask, though I already know the answer from the map.

She lets out a slow, annoyed breath. "Copycat arsons. At least, that's what we're calling them for now. No way to tell yet if it's connected to the Tacony guy or just opportunists seeing a big, flashy story and deciding to get creative."

My stomach twists. "Copycats? How many?"

"Too many," she says grimly. "All over the metro area. Mostly small stuff--trash cans, abandoned buildings--but we've had some close calls. A convenience store near Drexel, a bathroom fire in a Starbucks in South Philly. We've been putting them out as fast as they pop up, but it's like playing Whac-A-Mole. And every time one of these fires hits the news..." She trails off, shaking her head.

"It just eggs on the next idiot," I finish. My mouth goes dry as the weight of it settles over me. Copycats. Fires spreading like a virus. And it's not just fires--it's me. It's Aaron. It's all of this. If I'd never been at Tacony Charter, if I'd never crossed paths with him...

"Girlie?" Fury Forge's voice cuts through my spiral. "You still with me?"

I blink, nodding quickly. "Yeah. Sorry. Just... processing."

She gives me a long look, her sharp eyes taking in more than I'd like. "Look, I'm not saying these are your responsibility. If anything, this kind of stuff happens every time a big-name villain pulls something flashy. We had the same thing after that whole debacle with Emberstrike in 2018. Some people just see chaos and think it's an invitation."

"Do you think it's him?" I ask, my voice quieter than I mean it to be. "Emberstrike?" I add, trying to fish for information without being obvious. "Or someone else?"

She exhales sharply, rubbing the back of her neck. "Honestly? No clue. Could be him, could be copycats, could be someone selling cheap Jump strains that mimic his powers. We're trying to keep it quiet for now, asking for a voluntary moratorium on the news coverage. Whenever a fire gets reported on, two more pop up."

I chew the inside of my cheek, studying the pattern of pins. "Right. Makes sense. Do you think it's important that they started in Tacony?" I venture. "D'you think whoever's started this is, I don't know, targeting something or someone in particular?"

For a moment, there's nothing but the faint hum of the overhead lights and the muffled sounds of voices from somewhere backstage. When Fury Forge breaks the silence, her tone is softer than before. "I think if someone is targeting someone else, that someone else should be concerned with staying around friends and letting the big guys handle it."

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I stare sort of past her eyes, my face going flat.

Her lips twitch, almost like she wants to smile but doesn't quite let herself.

Instead, she turns to the crate she was digging through earlier, pulling out a handful of items. "Speaking of staying alive, I do think there is some direct assistance I can proffer to you and, uh, the rest of your school. Think of it as a beta test for our new student emergency preparedness initiative. The latest shit I've been working on."

I raise an eyebrow as she hands me a compact bundle wrapped in bright orange fabric. "What's this?"

"Fire blanket," she says. "Lightweight, heat-resistant, and small enough to carry around without looking like a total dweeb. You ever get caught in a fire, wrap this around yourself and get out. It won't stop you from breathing smoke, but it'll keep you from turning into barbecue."

"Thanks," I say, unfolding it slightly to inspect the material. It's softer than I expected, almost like a heavy-duty scarf.

She holds up a small canister next, about the size of a travel deodorant. "Foam capsules. Pop the cap, aim, and squeeze. Expands on contact to smother flames. Good for putting out small fires or creating a barrier between you and the heat."

I take it from her, turning it over in my hands. "This is... cool. Like, really cool."

"And last but not least," she says, producing a sleek black mask with an almost futuristic design. "Foldable smoke mask. Filters out most airborne toxins, including carbon monoxide. You'll still want to get to fresh air as fast as you can, but this'll make sure you pass out from the heat before you pass out from the smoke. Fits in your pocket, or on a necklace."

I stare at the mask, my throat tightening. It's not just gear. It's acknowledgment. Someone taking me seriously enough to arm me against the kind of danger that's been shadowing me for weeks. "Thank you," I manage, my voice barely above a whisper.

Fury Forge shrugs, her tone casual. "Like I said, beta test. I'll want feedback. Let me know if the straps pinch or if the capsules explode in your bag. I'm still working out the kinks."

I can't help but smile, just a little. "Will do."

She leans back against the stage, crossing her arms again. "Listen, Girlie. You know what the first rule of firefighting is? You can't save anyone if you're dead. Sometimes the smartest thing to do is wait for backup, secure your position, make sure you've got all your equipment in order."

I hesitate, my grip tightening on the fire blanket. "And if backup isn't coming?"

Her expression hardens. "Then you'd better make damn sure you know what you're walking into before you open that door. Fire's not like other threats. It's patient. It's methodical. And it only needs one mistake."

"I understand," I say quietly.

"Good," she replies, turning back to her map. "Now get out of here. Go study geometry or whatever it is you're supposed to be doing."

I leave the auditorium with the package tucked under my arm, turning her words over in my head. Wait for backup. Know what you're walking into. But Aaron isn't going to wait, and backup isn't coming.

Which means I need to open that door.

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The walk home feels heavier than usual, the world pressing in from all sides. Fury Forge's gear sits at the bottom of my bag, its compact weight both comforting and suffocating. I'm not in costume--won't be today, at least--but just knowing it's there makes me feel like I'm walking a line between normal and... not.

I drag my shoes through the slush toward my front door. Sandman is on my block again, pretending to be asleep. Or maybe he actually is asleep but somehow still conscious? I know his powers involve sleep but the details escape me. Either way, I nod at him, and he cracks an eye open to nod back.

When I step inside, the warm smell of dinner hits me, and for a moment I'm back in a world that feels too small for all the chaos in my head. My mom's voice floats in from the kitchen, steady and familiar.

"Sam, is that you? Dinner's almost ready."

"Yeah," I call back, kicking off my boots and setting my bag by the door. I don't even make it halfway to the stairs before my dad emerges from the living room, his expression balanced between relief and wariness.

"Hey, kiddo," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "You doing okay?"

I shrug, aiming for casual. "Yeah. Long day."

He nods, his eyes lingering longer than I'd like. "We were just watching a news report about that arsonist. The one in Mayfair? You hear anything about it at school?"

"Not really," I lie, brushing past him toward the stairs. "Everyone's just nervous with the fire department everywhere."

"Good, I heard," he says, his voice a little too loud, trying too hard. "Just... be careful, okay? Stay close to your teachers."

"I'm not five, Dad," I mutter, but there's no real bite to it. I can't blame him for worrying.

"Hey, Ben, let her go," my mom calls from the kitchen. "She just got home."

I glance back, offering a faint smile. "I'm fine, really. Just tired."

He sighs, stepping back. "Alright. Dinner in ten, though."

I retreat to my room, closing the door with a quiet click. The house feels so normal, so insulated from everything outside, that it's almost surreal. My parents don't know--can't know--that the arsonist isn't just some random guy terrorizing Mayfair. They don't know it's Aaron. They don't know it's my fault.

I pull the envelope from my bag, turning it over in my hands. The hammer sticker stares back at me, bright and cartoonish, like it's mocking me. I run my fingers along the edges, feeling the cheap paper give slightly. There's nothing special about it--nothing that screams, This is the work of a serial arsonist! But I know better.

A crime lab could dust it for fingerprints, maybe pull something useful. But even if Aaron's prints are on it, what good would that do? I know he's out there. I know what he's capable of. The envelope's been passed through too many hands--John, Melissa, John's dealer, and who knows who else. It's a dead end. A loose thread with no hope of being tied up.

I toss it onto my desk, leaning back with a frustrated sigh. My mind churns, replaying the past few days in an endless loop. The fires. The envelope. Fury Forge's map. Aaron's face, burned into my memory like a scar. I can only see everything in retrospect - the shape the fires take, their position on a map, but I can't trace it backwards.

Can I?

I sit up, my gaze snapping back to the envelope. My fingers drum against the desk as the thought takes shape, slow and uncertain at first, but gaining momentum. The chain of custody is messy, sure. But it's still a chain. A trail.

Just not a trail a normal person could follow.