Grabbing the man by the collar, she dragged him out of the barn and tossed him onto the cool grass, far from the remaining phlogiston.
He sat up, furiously pounding his knee back into place before charging at her again. Without the element of surprise, he had no chance against her. Thermophiles grew stronger with each human they inhaled and her count rested in the thousands. Compared to her, this man had the strength of a child, barely past his first few victims.
When he lunged this time, she didn’t even bother dodging. Instead, her hand darted into the strap along her thigh and emerged gripping a sleek, bright pink baton. With a practiced flick, it expanded with a satisfying snap.
He paused mid-lunge, his bloodshot eyes flicking to the absurdly cheerful color of the weapon, a spark of confusion flashing through his primal rage.
“What?” Ruby quipped, twirling the baton once in her hand. “Not intimidating enough for you?”
Before he could respond—or react—she drove the baton against his ribs with enough force to send him sprawling onto his back. He wheezed and clutched at his side. She pressed the baton against his throat, pinning him to the dirt.
"You’re pathetic,” Ruby muttered as the man stumbled to his feet, his movements jerky and uncoordinated. She dodged another swing, her movements effortless, while his were sluggish, fueled by sheer desperation. “Was it worth it?” she hissed, slamming him back into the dirt.
With one hand, she pulled out her phone and dialed a familiar number. The man thrashed pointlessly beneath her.
“They were right,” she said into the phone, skipping any pleasantries. Her free hand absently touched the spot where the wood had splintered into her cheek, finding only dried blood. “He’s weak enough that a C squad could handle him.”
“Where should I send them?” Lucas asked.
“To the house. Outside the barn, in the back,” she replied, scanning the flickering flames for any sign of movement.
A keyboard clicked softly in the background of the call. “A team will be there in thirty.”
“Lucas?”
“Yes?”
She hesitated. The warm glow of the barn cast eerie shadows across the ground. “He took a third victim. We’ll need the cleanup crew, too.”
The line went dead. Ruby sighed, knowing Lucas hadn’t hung up out of apathy or ignorance. He’d make the necessary calls. Then he’d probably retreat to a bar to drown the images in his mind, like he did after every case he assigned her. She knew better than to call him back.
The man beneath her had grown quiet, his high fading fast. He no longer struggled, his once-strong limbs now weak and unsteady. He looked longingly toward the fire, making a feeble attempt to wiggle out from under her foot. Curious, Ruby released him, watching as he dragged his body a mere two feet before collapsing. She sighed again, dragging him back to the grass and sitting beside him, the hay and dirt biting into her thighs. His eyes were open, but they were distant, lost in the disorienting fog of withdrawal. In an hour or two, he’d have enough energy to hunt again. He wouldn’t live that long.
The phlogiston floated toward the night sky, the glowing patterns reminiscent of the Aurora Borealis. Was he looking at the same patterns, seeing the same eerie beauty? Or was he too far gone to notice? She sighed, brushing dirt from her palms, wondering—if things had been different, would she have ended up like him? A mindless husk chasing smoke and ash? She’d saved herself, but only barely. And not without leaving pieces of her soul behind in the fire. For a moment, the world stilled, silent, as if the universe itself held its breath.
Ruby collapsed the baton, shoving it back into its holder. The hem of her dress fell back into place just as a baritone voice interrupted the silence.
“Excuse me?”
She stood, assuming it to be one of the execution squad—they hated being called that, insisting they were called the enforcement unit—or cleanup crew. But instead of a uniformed officer, a familiar figure—broad-shouldered, sandy blonde curls peeking out from under a cap, and the scent of wood—found her.
The latecomer from the church.
He jogged over to her, his expression panicked. “I saw the fire on my way home. Is everyone okay?”
Ruby blinked, surprised. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Maybe he did belong to this community after all. She forceda smile, then dropped it when it felt too unnatural. “Yes, thank goodness. Saw the smoke from my truck and stopped to check. I managed to get him out before it got too bad.”
“Did you call 911?” He closed in, now only a few feet away, concern etched into his features.
“Yes,” she lied. However, she had called a government agency that would deal with the fire. “They’ll be here soon. But it’s not safe; you really should—”
Before she could finish, he grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. Stunned and a bit confused, Ruby didn’t react in time to stop him as he lunged for her face. The mask tore free before her brain could catch up. She gasped, the night air suddenly too cold against her exposed skin. By the time her body moved, it was too late. She stumbled backward, landing hard on the ground as he sprinted toward the fire and hurled the mask into the flames.
The badge in his back pocket caught her eye, and Ruby cursed under her breath. She scrambled away, berating herself for letting her guard down.
Before she could escape, he seized her ankle and twisted, using her own momentum to send her off balance. As she stumbled, he shifted his grip, redirecting her weight with a sharp pull that hurdled her back toward the fire. She lashed out, her boot driving into his ribs. The impact sent him sprawling, his cap flying off as he collided with the barn wall. The structure groaned in protest, flames devouring the weakened beams.
Her breath hitched. That face—she’d know it anywhere. A cold weight settled in her stomach, memories crashing down like a tidal wave.
