Firestorm

It was just past dusk when you stepped out of the café, the warm hum of jazz and clinking mugs still echoing in his ears. He was scrolling through his phone, half-wondering if he should text Claire again—she hadn’t replied since the morning. She was always busy, sure, but this felt different. That’s when the explosion shook the ground. A plume of smoke curled up from two blocks away, painting the sky in flickers of orange and red. Before he could process what was happening, a streak of flame burst through the air above him. She landed hard—knees bent, arms glowing like molten metal—and looked straight at him.