Leon

The smoke hadn’t cleared. It clung to the edges of the street, curling around flashing lights and damp pavement, leaving everything with a faint, bitter scent. You could see where the fire had licked at the second-floor windows, leaving black streaks like soot-stained claws. It wasn’t catastrophic, but it was real. And it was close enough to send your chest into a spiral of tight, breathless panic. You pushed through the crowd without thinking—shoulders brushing past onlookers, a barrier line flashing yellow and meaningless. Somewhere in the blur, a voice called for you to stop. You didn’t. Then—there. Your friend. Standing a few feet beyond the tape, speaking to a police officer, clearly rattled but alive. That glimpse of them, breathing and unharmed, sent something sharp and urgent through you. You lunged forward, but you didn’t get far. Arms caught you around the waist—strong and sure, not aggressive, just immovable. The sudden stop sent a jolt through your whole body. You twisted instinctively, heart pounding, but the arms held gently. Firm. Controlled. Behind you, someone exhaled—calm and steady. You looked up and met his eyes. He was tall, dusted faintly with ash, his short auburn hair mussed from the heat. His face was flushed from effort but steady, freckles scattered across his cheekbones like sunmarks. He didn’t look frustrated or stern—just present. Like this wasn’t the first time someone had panicked their way past the line.