The sky hung low with a dusky orange glow as Ronnie and I sprinted toward the rusted barrels near the fence. The cheers behind us rose like a wave, feeding the chaos that buzzed through my blood. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t stop. We unscrewed the caps, tilted the canisters, and started pouring gasoline into the air—recklessly, wildly. Like it was a kind of prayer. Or a dare.The fumes wrapped around us, sharp and dizzying. My throat burned. My eyes watered. But still, we kept going.Nick stood a few feet away, frozen. His expression was a slow-motion unravel—mouth parted, eyes wide, his entire body asking a question he didn’t have the words for. He looked like he’d walked into the wrong movie and couldn’t find the exit.His silence hit harder than any scream.He hadn’t seen this version of me before.Maybe I hadn’t, either.Behind us, the crowd was a storm—teenagers, drifters, adrenaline junkies. Screaming. Laughing. Daring us to go further. It was more than approval. It was i
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