"Feel like it too." I grab a coffee filter, trying to focus on the simple task. Paper crinkles under my fingers—and then the scent hits me.
Burnt. Faint, but sharp. Like scorched paper.
I freeze, staring down. The edges of the filter are curling in on themselves, browning like they’ve been too close to an open flame.
"Dude." Jace steps closer, squinting. "Are you—"
"It's fine." I toss the filter into the trash, fast. Too fast. Like that’ll stop him from seeing what he already saw.
"That filter just tried to self-destruct."
"Old batch," I say, not looking at him. "Probably already half toasted."
"Uh-huh." Jace doesn't push, but the doubt is all over his face. "Want me to handle the coffee? I promise not to melt anything."
"I've got it."
Even though I don’t. Not really
But my hands are shaking now, and when I reach for another filter, I can feel the heat building in my fingertips. The paper starts to curl before I even touch it.
"Rhett." Jace's voice has gone serious, the teasing edge completely gone. "What's going on?"
I freeze, staring down at my hands like they belong to someone else. The heat pulses under my skin, rhythmic and insistent. Like a heartbeat made of fire.
"I don't know." The admission thickens in my throat. "I woke up hot. Burning. And now everything I touch..."
I trail off, because if I say it, I have to admit I might be a threat. And I can’t be that. Not to them
Jace steps closer, his bright blue eyes studying my face with an intensity that makes me want to look away. "Hot how? Like fever hot, or—"
"Like fire under my skin. Ever since Bree touched that crown hot."
Something flickers across Jace's face—recognition, maybe, or understanding. "You think it's connected?"
"Has to be." I lean against the counter, the cool marble doing nothing to ease the heat crawling up my arms. "She does something impossible, and suddenly I'm a walking furnace. Can't be coincidence."
"Maybe it's not a bad thing." Jace's voice is careful, like he's testing a theory. "Maybe it's just... I don't know. Something unlocking. Like what happened to her."
"Unlocking what?" The question comes out harsher than I mean it to, sharp with fear I can’t quite hide. "Being dangerous? Hurting people?"
"Being different," Jace says. "Being something we don’t understand yet."
"I don’t want to be different." The words rip out of me, raw and honest. "I want to be safe. I want to keep her safe. And how the hell am I supposed to do that if I can’t even touch a coffee filter without setting it on fire?"
Jace opens his mouth to respond, but footsteps on the stairs cut him off. Light, familiar steps that make my chest tighten with equal parts relief and terror.
Bree appears in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, one of my hoodies swallowing her small frame. She looks fragile in the morning light, still recovering from whatever happened to her last night. Still vulnerable.
"Morning," she says, voice soft and rough with sleep. Her eyes find mine across the kitchen, and she smiles—small but real. "Coffee smells good."
I haven't made any. Just burnt paper and whatever the hell is happening to me.
But I don't correct her. Can't. Because she's moving toward me with that unconscious trust she's finally started to show, and all I can think about is the heat radiating from my skin.
She slides up beside me, close enough that I can smell the vanilla scent of her shampoo. Close enough that she'll feel the heat rolling off me in waves.
"You okay?" she asks, looking up at me with those green eyes that see too much. "You look—"
