“I hear it too,” I say, voice low. “Something’s off. He’s rushing. Desperate.”
The engine’s whine climbs another octave, splitting the air with unnatural urgency. The hairs on my arms rise. We trade one look, nothing held back.
We’re not just chasing him anymore. We’re running out of time. One drum left. One shot to stop him before he hits the edge of Prescott and lights the fuse.
We pick up speed, hearts pounding, boots slamming stone. No more hesitation. No more restraint.
Fire may not be ours to wield—but we know how to stop it… and we will.
KADE
Smoke still beads in Liv’s curls when we break through the south face of the cave. The basalt yields with a sigh of cooling glass, its surface fracturing like cracked sugar under a torch. The rush of night air hits hard—cooler, drier, filled with the acrid tang of distant ash. Embers swirl between us and the open dark, tiny constellations spinning above the flats. Liv pauses, spine straightening as her boots touch scorched stone. Her breath catches, then steadies, her jaw set with quiet purpose.
A beat passes before I follow, struck silent by the contrast. The firelight frames her like something forged instead of born—tempered, unbreakable. The bond between us tightens, not just with power but with purpose. The cave behind us still glows faintly with the heat we left behind, but out here, the world is raw and real. Every breath I take carries the weight of what almost broke me—and the promise of what she burned clean. The poison hasn’t vanished entirely, but it recoils from her flame. From us.
A Blackstrike helicopter ghosts in low, the rotor wash kicking up ash like bone dust, scouring the barren slope. The air thins with the downdraft, peppering our faces with grit. Dax leans from the open door, headset askew, his eyes sharp and assessing as they rake us from soot-caked boots to glowing sigils, lingering for half a beat longer on the flicker of fire still dancing across Liv's skin.
“You two look wrecked,” Dax says, tone laced with gallows humor.
“Greer’s worse,” I grit out, boosting Liv onto the skid before climbing up after her.
I launch into the air, letting go of the skid and pulling my body into a tight dive.
Midair, the change surges through me, swift and absolute. Fire ignites in my core, racing outward like a living fuse. My skin prickles, stretches, then dissolves into heat. Bones soften, twist, then snap back harder, longer—reshaped for flight.
A heartbeat later, wings explode from my back with a violent snap, air shredding around their sudden span. My hands lengthen into talons, lungs expand for the sear of the sky, and the world sharpens into color and motion. I rise in a clean, fluid sweep, momentum and fury fused into instinct, leaving the last shreds of humanity behind in the smoke below.
The wind rips past as I haul myself level with the cab. The fire engine is empty—driver’s seat vacant, door swinging open like someone bailed in a hurry.
Coward.
He’s already gone. Abandoned the rig and left it rolling straight toward the city—steering locked, gas pedal strapped down, the whole thing rigged to keep moving. A distraction by design. A bomb on wheels. That’s fine. He doesn’t need to be behind the wheel for the threat to be eliminated.
Flame builds behind my teeth—not wild, but honed by fury, vengeance compressed into heat and purpose.
I release it in a narrow stream. Flame scorches the fire engine’s roof, welding the final thermite barrel in place. Brackets seize. Metal blisters. Better it detonates here—over basalt and flame-blackened stone—than anywhere near the city. I bank hard and away, just as the barrel blows.
A roar of molten light erupts skyward, haloing my wings in a corona of searing brilliance. The blast tears through the canyon, splitting the air like a fault line. No civilian eyes—just a commercial drone arcing over a ridge, its green beacon blinking like a verdict.
Damn. Footage is rolling. And every frame is fire.
“Greer?” she asks.
“Negative. He wasn’t with the vehicle. He had it rigged to hit the city without him in it.”
“Of course he did. We should have figured he had no intention of blowing himself up.”
“Any sign of him?”
“Not yet, but he’ll surface. Dax says to take out the drone. He got the signal jammed before it could transmit. Rendezvous back at the top of the cliff.”
“Copy.”
One thing at a time, I remind myself as I bank toward the drone. The immediate threat to the city is gone. I’ll neutralize the drone—then we’ll deal with finding Greer.
CHAPTER 17
LIV
