After the flames

The news alert glowed on my screen like a death sentence.

Fire reported at 612 The Forge luxury apartments. Apartment 612. Jace's apartment. The sirens that had been distant a moment ago were screaming now, tearing through the night, heading straight for the building where I'd sat on a leather couch and bandaged his cheek and watched his walls crack open just enough to let me see inside.

"Sophie." Marcus grabbed my shoulders. His voice was urgent but steady. "What does it say? What's happening?"

I couldn't speak. The words were stuck in my throat like broken glass. Gregory's voice was still echoing in my head—now I'm going to teach you a lesson you won't forget—and suddenly everything made terrible, horrifying sense. He hadn't just threatened me. He'd gone after his own son.

"We have to go," I choked out. "We have to go right now."

Marcus didn't ask questions. He just grabbed my coat off the hook and shoved it into my hands, then pulled me out the door and down the stairs. His truck was parked at the curb, engine still warm from when he'd arrived five minutes ago. Five minutes. That was all it took for my entire world to catch fire.

"The Forge," I said as he pulled away from the curb. "Drive faster."

"Sophie, talk to me. What's happening?"

"His father." My hands were shaking so hard I couldn't buckle my seatbelt. Marcus reached over and did it for me, his fingers brushing mine, and the kindness of the gesture nearly broke me. "Jace's father has been stalking me. Threatening me. He called tonight and said he'd teach me a lesson. And now Jace's apartment is on fire."

Marcus's jaw tightened. His knuckles went white on the steering wheel. He didn't say why didn't you tell anyone or how long has this been happening or any of the things he had every right to say. He just pressed the accelerator and took the next corner so fast the tires squealed.

"Jace texted me an hour ago," Marcus said. "Said he was going to confront his father. Said if anything happened, I should make sure you were safe." He paused, and his voice dropped. "I thought he was being dramatic."

"Jace doesn't do dramatic. He does self-destructive."

We flew through a red light. The sirens were louder now, a chorus of screaming emergency vehicles converging on the east side of campus. I could see the glow before I could see the building—orange and violent, licking at the sky like it was hungry. The Forge was on fire.

The scene outside The Forge was chaos. Fire trucks lined the street. Hoses snaked across the pavement. Residents huddled in the cold in pajamas and blankets, their faces lit by the rotating red lights. Smoke poured from the sixth floor in thick black columns that blotted out the stars.

I was out of the truck before Marcus fully stopped. I shoved through the crowd, scanning every face, every blanket-wrapped figure, every shadow. No Jace. No Jace. Where the hell was Jace?

A firefighter blocked my path. "Ma'am, you can't go in there."

"My friend lives on the sixth floor. Apartment 612. Did he get out? Did anyone see him?"

The firefighter's expression flickered—something I couldn't read. "The sixth floor was the origin point. We're still doing a sweep. You need to wait behind the line."

The origin point. Gregory hadn't just set a fire. He'd set it inside Jace's apartment. I stumbled backward, my legs threatening to give out. Marcus caught me before I hit the ground.

"He's not dead," Marcus said firmly. "Jace is a lot of things, but he's not easy to kill."

"That's not comforting."

"It wasn't supposed to be."

I was about to snap something back—something sharp and cruel, because fear made me mean—when a figure stumbled out of the building's side entrance. Tall. Broad shoulders. A gray hoodie now streaked with soot. Blood on his temple where something had fallen. But alive. He was alive.

Jace.

He was coughing so hard he could barely stand. A paramedic rushed toward him, but he waved her off. His eyes were scanning the crowd. Searching. And when they found mine, something broke open in his expression. Relief. Desperation. Fear. All of it tangled together.

I ran.

I crashed into him before I could think about what I was doing. My arms wrapped around his neck. His hands fisted in the back of my coat. He was solid and warm and coughing smoke into my hair, and I didn't care about any of it—not the soot, not the blood, not the hundred people watching.

"You idiot," I gasped. "You absolute idiot. You went after him alone."

"I had to." His voice was wrecked, raw from smoke and something deeper. "He was going to hurt you. He already hurt you. I couldn't let him—"

"So you let him burn down your apartment?"

"I didn't let him. I was trying to stop him." Jace pulled back just enough to look at me. His face was smeared with ash. The cut on his cheek had reopened. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild. "He was waiting for me when I got there. He had a gas can, Sophie. He said if I didn't stop seeing you, next time he'd make sure you were inside."

The words hit me like a punch. Gregory hadn't just wanted to destroy property. He'd wanted to send a message. Stay away from my son, or I'll burn you alive.

"Did he say anything else?" I asked.

"He said I was ruining my career for a piece of trash. He said you'd destroy everything he built." Jace's hands were still gripping my coat like I might disappear. "I told him he was the one who destroyed everything. I told him I was done letting him control me."

"And then?"

"And then he lit the fire."

We stood there in the freezing dark, surrounded by sirens and smoke and the wreckage of everything Gregory Kingston had touched. Marcus hovered a few feet away, giving us space but staying close. The firefighters were still shouting. The hoses were still spraying. But for one strange, suspended moment, it was just the two of us.

"I'm sorry," Jace whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you from him."

"You don't have to protect me."

"Yes, I do. Because I'm the reason he came after you. Because you got close to me, and my father destroys everything I care about." His voice cracked. "I should have stayed away. I should have—"

I kissed him.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't gentle. It was desperate and angry and tasted like smoke and salt. His mouth was stunned for half a second before he kissed me back, his hands sliding from my coat to my waist, pulling me closer like I was the only solid thing in a world that was falling apart. The sirens kept screaming. The building kept burning. And Jace Kingston held onto me like I was oxygen and he'd been drowning his whole life.

When we finally broke apart, his forehead pressed against mine, and we stood there breathing the same smoke-filled air.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he said. "I don't know how to be good for you."

"I don't need you to be perfect. I just need you to stop pushing me away."

"I'll try."

"That's all I'm asking."

A police officer approached before Jace could say anything else. "Are you Jace Kingston? The resident of 612?"

Jace straightened. His hand found mine and held tight. "Yeah. That's me."

"Sir, we need to ask you some questions about the fire. Witnesses saw a man matching your father's description fleeing the scene. We have units searching for him now."

My blood ran cold. "You haven't caught him yet?"

The officer's expression was apologetic but firm. "Not yet, ma'am. But we will. In the meantime, you might want to consider somewhere safe to stay. Both of you."

Somewhere safe. As if anywhere was safe while Gregory Kingston was still out there. As if a man who would burn down his own son's apartment would hesitate to do worse.

Jace turned to me. His eyes were still red, still raw, but there was something new in them. Something that looked a lot like resolve.

"Stay with me tonight," he said. "Not—not like that. Just stay. Where I can see you. Where I know you're safe."

"Jace, I don't have anywhere to go either. I'm about to be evicted."

"Then we'll figure it out together." He squeezed my hand. "You and me. No more pushing away. No more secrets."

I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.

But as we walked toward Marcus's truck, my phone buzzed one final time. I glanced down, expecting another news alert. Another fire update.

It wasn't.

Unknown: You kissed him. I warned you what would happen. Now you'll both pay.

I spun around, scanning the crowd, the rooftops, the dark alleys between buildings. Nothing. No one. But Gregory was out there. Watching. Waiting. And the fire was only the beginning.