I watch them through the window from outside. My mother stares in my general direction, but it certainly isn’t at me. My father is turned toward her, speaking words she doesn’t register, even in a conscious state. It’s been two weeks since the great awakening, and she’s only partially coherent. I miss her chiding, conscience-like commentary.

Bright side: we’re moving forward. Ryan managed to bring her back to her regular appearance. The only lingering reminder of her extended hospital stay is the blood bag she refuses to hide under her clothing. She wants to see it. So gross. When it isn’t in her line of sight, she takes to fits worse than Tally.

I ritualistically donate to keep her from falling back into the coma that held her captive for eighteen years. The voluntary drain happens every morning after I battle the monotonous treadmill. Running, my free time favorite, isn’t the same if I’m not actually going anywhere. It’s sadly my only option to exercise off my excess fire fuel. Plus, staying in shape is somewhat mandatory, seeing as we don’t know if and when the Tribunal will show up to demand compensation for Barry’s extraction. Guess that’s a big ole dim side. Cue tiny violins.

Lockdown sucks. I was cool with it at first. It was pretty nice lounging away all the pain and suffering I’ve forced myself to endure in trade for a lifetime of unwarranted penance. I temporarily stopped looking forward and focused on what was right in front of me. For that short span, I felt peace despite the potential confrontation outside the safe haven Derry built for us. As I said, I was cool with it at first. Someone destroyed my last nerve a week ago. Derry. It was Derry, okay? He was riding that sucker fairly hard for longer than a week, if we’re throwing all our cards on the table.

“She’s particularly fascinated by you today,” coos an unwelcome voice, still as sticky and sweet as honey, even if the carrier no longer smells of Morning Glories and Sunshine. Derry snakes an arm around my waist, offering my liquid breakfast with his free hand.

“You shouldn’t be out here,” I warn, taking a deep drink and scootching away as best I can without inciting a temperature check. If he checks my temperature once more, he’s getting a thermometer where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Neither should you,” he reminds me. Not that warning me will do him any good. The house is big, but there are too many bodies in it.

“She isn’t looking at me.” I point toward the water. “That’s what she’s looking at.”

“And she’s what he’s looking at,” he adds, pointing toward my father.

Derry’s been pestering me for days to talk to Dad, who handled the unbelievable story regarding my would-be-Solathair status with disturbing indifference. He didn’t ask any questions except whether the supernatural phenomenon was responsible for what happened to my mother. My “yes” invoked the wall, and there was no breaching the blockade. He did, however, allow Mom behind it. Good enough for me.

“Are you coming in?” He suggestively nudges me but already knows the answer.

“Later,” I mumble, handing him the empty mug.

“Refill?”

I make nervous circles with my thumbs and index fingers. “Later.”

He kisses my cheek, heading back to the house. Not gonna lie, the tiniest part of me feels guilty about my current behavior. He’s trying super hard to find common ground for us. Sort of. I mean, he is trying super hard. Problem is, his attempts cause massive divots instead of resolving anything.

Case in point: he’s working on a top secret surprise for me. Declan, Kiley, Tally, and Barry are helping with whatever it is. I’m not a fan of surprises, plural. Just the one. Sunrise. It’s the only surprise for me. I’ve told him this. Repeatedly. He isn’t listening. When Derry sets his mind to something, nothing else matters, even the person that something is supposedly for.

I stand, continuing to stare blanks at the water. No sense in getting riled up. It’s probably just the lack of distance causing the wanted distance. Nothing more, right? Right.

The only person I’m not sick of is Brody. Does he annoy me? Constantly. Just not in the same way. Again, that’s likely a proximity thing. He’s somehow snagged a get-out-of-jail-free card and is living at the cabin. Jerk. I’m openly envious of his freedom. I long for privacy, but they won’t let me outside the strictly monitored security barrier. What do they expect? Are we spending the next twenty million years lying in wait for something that may never happen? I’m getting restless. My flame is getting restless. The more I expel, the stronger it becomes. I’m losing hope containment is a permanent solution.

I hold my hands in front of me, practicing my newest distraction. Firework fingers level two. I open the grates restraining my fire fuel. I’m getting much better at controlling the flow. Even with the seal open, the fire waits until called upon, allowing me to draw and cease flow quicker. On several occasions, I’ve pushed it back once released. Mastering retraction takes practice. Good thing all I seem to have right now is time.

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The steady heat sails from my chest toward my arms, docking at my thumbs. Once a sufficient amount has pooled, I ease it out. The effect is a candle-sized flame. Like a match progressing from one to another, I bring each of my fingers toward my thumbs, the tips immediately catching. The reward for my efforts is ten burning wicks. As slowly as I began, I individually blow out each one until they’re all extinguished. Just like birthday candles. Speaking of, remember that cake I so desperately wanted? Turns out, I am the cake. Food for both Sumairs and Solathairs. Balance in every bite. Too bad I can’t eat myself. Bet I’m delicious.

“Look at you, getting ready for another round of defeat.” I didn’t hear Brody coming up behind me, too absorbed in my cake obsession. “Maybe I’ll take it easy on you today.”

I greet him with a sneer. “You never take it easy on me.”

“Letting you win isn’t doing you any favors. This is serious.”

I’ve been putting a lot of thought into how I can beat him in a spar. My small size and lack of coordination don’t make for good defenses, but I’m determined. He takes practice very seriously. Too seriously. I ordinarily leave our lessons with more than a bruised ego. Objectively worth it. Blowing off steam is the only thing I have to look forward to while waiting in isolation from the world I’ve only just obtained the desire to explore. Now I can’t. Typical.

The company isn’t terrible. Everyone I care about is here, but having them with me twenty-four hours a day, every day, isn’t my idea of a happily ever after. Too many emotions are cooped up in the confined space, and most are even more eager for release than me. A bunch of caged rats, the lot of us. Not Tally and Barry. Don’t ask. Please.

“Should we warm up?” Brody jogs in place, holding his fists securely in front of his face. Apparently, he’s not letting me get a second sucker punch in like yesterday. It’s the only hit I’ve landed. Not sorry.

Smiling brightly, I back up a few paces. “I’m always warm.”

I strategized last night while casually running my hand up and down Derry’s arm. Engrossed as I was in the repetitive action, I didn’t anticipate the coming flame. Smelled it, though. Burning flesh isn’t a stellar smell if you were curious. Ryan mended my mistake in record time. Still, I refused to sit close to Derry for the rest of the night. The distance for him was worse than the burn. Honestly, that might’ve been the straw. You know, the one to break my camel’s back. Our camel. Whatever. The camel’s written right off now. Totally lame.

“Better focus,” he cautions.

“Better shut up,” I fire back.

I fight the instinctive urge to plant my feet in the soil below me. I learned that lesson early on after a rather unforgiving battering ram knocked me into the force field perimeter. Hard lessons, Folks. It’s the only way I learn them. Unsurprisingly, Peepy D was creeping and lowered the electrical voltage just before I connected with the barrier. The lesson? I’m too small to stand my ground. Too small but not slow. I have speed on my side and can move much faster than Brody in a limited space. My standard defense is to avoid contact instead of attempting to absorb the impact. He won’t expect what I have planned.

The unfortunate drawback is my plan requires contact. I have to get him in range without him catching onto what I’m doing. Mercifully, Brody’s nothing if not predictable. His only concern is offense. Point to me. That overconfidence will award me my first sparring victory.

He charges me at Pamplona Bull Run velocity. I wait until he’s just a foot from me before pirouetting to the right, opening the grates containing my flame as I spin. When he circles around for a second pass, I let the fire spill out recklessly through my body. Gradual release comes without pain. Sudden release brings razors slicing where they travel. Not joyous. I grind my teeth and clench my fists at my sides, determined to keep my grimace from blowing the lid off my surprise.

I’ve released and retracted the heat three times, confident it’s steady and ready to work. Brody charges me again, so I slide to the right, extending my leg to sweep his feet from under him. His momentum rolls him away from me.

I bring the heat to my hands in a flash. With my fingers pressed to my thumbs, I flick the flame toward him. It separates from my fingertips, meeting my intended target and doing minor damage to his clothing before fizzling out.

He laughs, hopping back onto his feet. “You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Bull charge three for the hat trick should have him winning, but I don’t plant my feet to brace for impact. I lean away and push up from the ground, already moving backward when we collide. While he’s still moving, I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling my knees to my chest. My added weight throws him off balance, so he falls forward onto me. My back hitting the ground prompts me to release his neck. Simultaneously, I push my feet into his chest. Just as he starts to fly away, I send another spray of finger fire, this current stronger than the practice release. The proximity of the blast, combined with the momentum of his forward roll, sends him spiraling through the air toward the gloriously debilitating security wall, powered by the electrical prowess of my today, maybe not tomorrow, armorless knight.

Brody flies at the seemingly harmless air until he connects with the force field. A massive light and electrical charge halts his forward progression. The wall sparks and wheezes like a bug zapper in Alaskan June.

I survey his poor positioning, his right leg bent awkwardly underneath him, his right arm twisted behind his back, and his free limbs extended and unmoving beside him. He groans while I smile my biggest, brightest smile. Immature as it is, I’ve just bested him for the first time in a fourteen-day losing streak. My heart swells with pride as I extend my hand in offering to help him to his feet. When he accepts my hand, the pride is replaced by a billion volts of electricity surging straight into my body with the intensity of a lightning bolt, sending me flying from the invisible wall. I lose consciousness before hitting the ground.