Heat isn’t sweltering anymore. Standing in fire is a simple comfort, like taking a glass of water on a scorching day. When I stand inside a fire, I imagine a caterpillar in its cocoon feeling similarly. Sol once told me the myth of their people, that the Salamandra people were born in fire. I believe that story now.

That’s why I know I’m not in any danger when I crash through Carissa’s room window that has miraculously remained intact. Until I smashed it in and slid right into her living room.

For the most part, I haven’t truly been in danger as the Salamander. When a building is tumbling down on you and your thoughts are ‘this will hurt’ rather than ‘this will kill me’ it truly drills in how much more durable I am than everyone else. When your assailant is throwing punches and using strength enhancers to attempt to kill you whilst you hold back in order to avoid too much damage, that’s when it clicks just how much more powerful I am.

Which only reminds me of how much more fragile everyone else around me is.

Fire has painted their house orange. I see a living room with a coffee table where she and I ate snacks as kids. I see family photos strewn on the floor, a statue of Buddha shattered on the ground. But I can’t dwell on this right now.

Normally, Carissa’s room is a pastel purple, her favourite colour. It’s typically illuminated by fairy lights and the most energy efficient bulbs she could find and with an air-conditioner set to a toasty 25 degrees celsius. Now it’s infested by ghoulish fire, charring everything in its path. The barriers of flame become meaningless as I phase through them to get into the room that’s been distorted beyond my recognition.

I refuse to try scanning for Carissa’s heat signature. The potential that I won’t be able to detect her or her family is too painful to think about, so I avoid that altogether. It’s stupid, I could get to her faster if I did, but the pain of not sensing her may send me spiralling into darkness- so I make the irrational move to look for her normally.

The flames cackle and roar, the room scorched and seared. I scan the area, finding items once on her desk scattered across the ground, some burning, some burnt. The desk itself has been blown to smithereens, clearly he had placed the explosive under her table. Maybe he intended to catch her while she was studying.

It’s strange, because I’ve been in this room so much throughout my life. I’ve seen the walls change from pink to purple in colour, I’ve seen her bed upgrade in size from a single to a queen size as she grew up. I see her sketchbook that she used for watercolour painting now burning at the edges. I notice her various polaroid photos on her wall with fairy lights above, from our secondary school graduation to K-pop idol cards.

And it’s all so strange, because throughout the years it has never felt this tight, this claustrophobic. The room felt as though it shrunk, even though that was an impossibility. It’s suffocating.

That fact means in no time flat, I’ve seen all her room has to offer. And she’s not here. A sigh of relief lifts the fog of anxiety that clouded my mind, and as this fog lifts my senses are dialled up once more.

‘A heartbeat.’

Sol’s right. There’s another heartbeat in the house we missed.

Scrambling again, I make my way to the door and shove it open to enter the equally cramped hallway, running back into the living room, hoping that my senses failed me. That we misheard something. Returning to the living room with comparable battle scars to Carrie’s room, the olfactory pollution that fire weaves into once tranquil air becomes excruciatingly apparent.

From behind the couch, I can see a leg barely sticking out. It’s blemished with bruises and burns. There’s a cut, from the glass of either the broken television or glass coffee table.

“No!” I yell uncontrollably, running right through the clutter and jumping over the couch.

I missed it, completely and utterly blindsided by panic. I thought she’d be in her room, never for a moment even considering the fact she would be out of it, or that Ashen would have struck everywhere he could. And in that fear and arrogance, not sensing for her and panic twisting my judgement, I missed my best friend lying limp on the ground.

Maybe I didn’t want to face the reality of my failure. My eyes tried their best to avert themselves from evidence of that, and once they couldn’t, they darted straight to her legs, slowly making their way up to her now dusty and ruined secondary school t-shirt she still wore at home. My vision blurs when I see around her neck. She’s still wearing the purple heart necklace. There’s a slight crack on it now at the tip, and I can feel my own heart break a little looking at it.

My legs lose all their power. I sink to my knees in despair and lose the form of the Salamander. The scales retract back, as my own flesh loosely grasps Carissa’s.

It's only Carissa and Rose. Our own little space for me to grieve a little. For me to regret. For me to apologise quietly, tears dripping onto her cheek as if to help her cry. Another object falls to the surrounding ground. I don’t note what it is. I only know from the sound of crashing that echoes in the room. No one came in to rush and help, I don’t know if her neighbours weren't home or just fled when the disaster struck. Her parents seem to be out late for work. It’s a blessing that no one else was around, but a curse that means she was alone. Was she afraid when the bombs went off? Was she even able to register that fear when they detonated? I don't know.

Carissa’s eyes are closed. She looks angelic as per usual. Her usual peppy smile has been replaced by an emotionless line across her face. There are burns and quickly drying blood on her cheeks, her glasses shattered on the floor roughly four paces away from me. Hesitating, I put my two fingers on her neck and attempt to feel for a pulse.

I don’t know why I’m going slowly. Why I’m trying to delay the inevitable. As if she was Schrodinger’s Cat, who will only be dead or alive once I observe it. As if the longer I drag this out, the longer I can live with the illusion that she’s okay. That I succeeded. That any of this was worth it.

The world is crumbling around me. The house itself is burning and being consumed by this wildfire as I pathetically deliberate on finding out if my best friend in the whole world is even alive. If I had to guess, the fire brigade is on its way. Police will be on their way too. If they find me with Carissa, they’re going to have a lot of questions. Questions I can’t deal with on top of the one that’s eating away at my brain.

I fumble around and find that my other hand goes to my own necklace. I caress the heart, it’s smooth even after all these years, my favourite piece of jewellery I own. The necklace I built outfits around, the necklace I take with me no matter where I go. I stroke it a little for good luck, take a deep inhale of the ashes in the air and place down my fingers on her wrists.

My senses are in overdrive right now. I can hear fire sparkles, I can vaguely make out the exact sentences I’m hearing on the ground level. I can smell gasoline from vehicles on the road, I can taste the cinders.

But most importantly, I can feel her pulse.

The tears are leaking out before I can stop myself, and I’m giving her unconscious body the most heartfelt hug I could muster in the moment, my muffled whispers and apologies echoing throughout the room.

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‘It’s not safe here, Rose. Get her to safety.’ It takes Sol’s reminder for me to remember how Carissa is still in danger, that I can’t be Rose- the Salamander needs to do their job. I pick her up like the princess she is and walk her out of her house. As I enter the hallway, Sol immediately triggers my transformation without my command, painless and seamless. I can’t tell if it’s because I’m more used to being the Salamander, or if it’s because I hate being Rose more with each passing day. And with my best friend lying limp in my arms, all of it my fault, I’m suspecting it’s the latter. That bitterness makes me bite my tongue, as though I want to feel more pain where I can. This is my new left arm’s first time touching anyone tenderly, holding Carissa as though I could still protect her.

I don’t deserve that privilege.

As I make my way out, I notice her eyes twitch. Shallow breaths. A gasp and valiant attempt to cling onto life.

“It’s okay. You’re safe, Carissa. You’re safe now.” I comfort, as she struggles in vain to open her eyes. Eventually, the pain becomes too much and she stops trying. Slowly and steadily, I carry her downstairs to be greeted by the fire department, police, news reporters and civilians who all stare at me holding this poor teenage girl, a victim of circumstance. Everyone stares on, holding their breaths. The fires are being put out, the neighbours are being interviewed, but there’s still an undeniable amount of eyeballs on me.

My best friend is in my arms, bridal style. She’s resigned herself to fatigue, falling into a slumber. The paralysing unworthiness I feel catalysed by carrying this angel in my arms is nearly lethal. The towering presence of the building behind me weighs deeply on my soul, moonlight casting a shadow that looms over my charcoal scales. Everyone’s waiting for me to make the first move. No one is running over, no one is saying a word anymore. I struggle for a bit, not sure what to tell everyone. Not sure if anyone would believe me. Not sure if it’s worth explaining myself.

“Her name is Carissa. She is eighteen years old and one of the strongest people I know.” I begin to speak to no one in particular. I don’t remember when I decided to give a speech, or even be a public figure.

“She was attacked for no reason, by a madman who is currently on that roof desperate for revenge. I fought him to save her, and she suffered the consequence of me not being good enough to stop him in time.” There’s a stunned silence that fills the air. I swallow hard. Medics come up to me with a stretcher, and I oblige by placing her on it and let the professionals take care of her. It can’t be me.

“For the few months I have been in this city, I have worked tirelessly to defend the helpless from those who would try to take advantage of us. I understand this is my biggest failure yet, and I understand if you all doubt me and my agendas because of it. I do not blame you for being afraid.” I notice the people who were once clutching tightly onto one another have now let go, bodies loosening up. They seem to be easing up. Still, everyone keeps a safe distance from me.

“But I have given everything I have tonight to save this girl. I have given everything I have because I need to protect someone who needs it. I do the right thing because I can. That's all I can do.” I turn to the police officers nearby who have feebly drawn their weapons.

“Are… is the… attacker gone? Did you… kill him?” A stunned man hugging his child asks. Everyone looks on with bated breath. Sirens still fill the air and the smell of ash is potent.

“I… no. He is alive. Human life… must come before justice.” I say weakly. It feels wrong to say that, to try and believe that. Children look at me in apprehension. Adults gossip as though I’m the latest drama, and not whether it's the ethical dilemma of taking a life. Some nod. Some take a step back.

“I am going back up there to take that man. And I will bring him back down here alive. And then, he’ll be in the hands of the law and the people. I won’t make the decision as to what happens to him. That’s not my duty. My only job is protecting life.” I look at the stretcher gently carrying Carissa into the ambulance, and I’m certain I’m terrible at this job.

Turning around, I scale the HDB flat and make my way upwards, trying my best to ignore the murmuring of the people I can so distinctly hear. I didn’t expect a cheer and a parade, but I did anticipate jeering and aggression, so right now neutrality is a gift.

When I make it back up, Ashen hasn’t moved a muscle. I walk over to him and pick up his phone, realising only about ten minutes have passed. I see the button that would have stopped the bomb and smash it on the ground, only for nothing to come out. It was always an empty shell. I’m only mad at myself for believing I could have ever changed anything.

“You saved her?” He asked rhetorically. I keep silent for a bit, battling the shared urges to annihilate him.

“Yes. It’s over.” I stared down at him, as he laid there not even trying to get up.

“Hah. It was always going to be this way, wasn’t it?” He said, a faint smile appearing on his face. I wanted to burn that face off, I wanted to leave his appearance unrecognisable as human. It should match what’s on the inside.

“Truth is, you’re never going to forget this night.” He declared through gasps and coughs, “in your darkest moments when you feel all hope is lost, you’ll think of me. When you go to sleep, you will dream of this moment and relive it over and over and over again.” The longer he speaks, the stronger the urge to puncture his lungs rises inside me. His face had contorted into something so vile, something I can’t grace with a description.

“I’m going to live in every one of your nightmares. Every fear you have, the hope you have that will inevitably be eradicated into nothingness: it will be me.” He quietly said in triumph. I had had enough of his monologuing, nor did I want to face the horrendous reality that he’s right. You don’t just forget about despair this intense.

“They’re going to ask questions. Link the event to me, Carissa and eventually to you, Salamander. You can’t hide behind Rose or Zhen Rong or anyone.” It was such an obviously rehearsed monologue. He never had any intention of winning in a fight, it was always to inspire hope within me just to be crushed.

“The best part is soon mum and dad are gonna know they raised an arsonist with their garbage parenting. My only wish is that I’d be alive to see their reactions, to see the hope that their son would accomplish something in his life dashed completely.” He said with a chuckle, somehow finding the will to stand back up and walk to the edge of the roof. I trailed him closely.

“But as I’m sure we’re both used to by now, we don’t always get what we want.” He waved at me, and took one foot over the edge and fell right off.

Or he would have, if I didn’t immediately leap forward and catch him with my tail. Ashen gasped as the inertia forced his body up a little, before gravity lowered him again. He looked at me stunned, unable to fathom why I would stop him from taking his own life. He wanted the easy way out, to go on his own terms. To pretend he had always had control of the situation. But he doesn’t get that satisfaction anymore, not while I’m here.

“The law and the people will decide what they want out of you. You don’t get that choice anymore.” I hissed, slowly crawling down the building with him wrapped in my tail, using every ounce of inner strength to not tighten the grip and suffocate him. Still, I squeezed tightly to hurt him as much as possible, to make his last moments of freedom as agonising as possible.

Ashen let out an airy sigh, and gave into his exhaustion, passing out in my tail.

It pained me to feel his heartbeat.