We move like a disease through the veins of the Academy, each of us infecting the place that once tried to inoculate us against everything wild and real.
Taking the stairs two at a time, we head towards my dorm, Julian trailing a line of gas where we’ve walked. He pauses when I open the door to my room and head inside. There’s only one thing I need and it’s a picture of my mom and I when I was little.
I work fast, grabbing the picture and shoving it into my pocket. Julian watches, his eyes burning a hole in my back. He never rushes me, never tells me to hurry. He just waits, as if he understands this is the most important thing I will ever do.
When I’m done, he pulls me against him, hands hard on my hips, his mouth in my hair.
“Ready?” he whispers.
I nod. There is nothing left for me here.
He grabs the can, and together we upend it on the desk. The gas floods the wood, soaks the chair, drips off the edge and pools around my shoes. The stink is everywhere, saturating the air, biting my nose and throat.
I take the matchbox out of my pocket. The matches are soft, the cardboard sticky with blood and gasoline. I hold them, trembling, until Julian covers my hand with his. His thumb strokes the back of my wrist, soothing and steady.
“Step back to the door, it’ll light fast and chuck it in as far as you can… then we run.”
I nod and do as he says, a gasp escaping me as the flame takes root against the side of my bed, spreading rapidly.
“Let’s go,” he says, and leads me out.
We meet the others in the corridor. The walls and floors are ready, the shine of gasoline gleaming on marble and wood, every surface slick and ready.
“Together.” Caius says.
Julian nods, and everyone takes out their matches, getting ready to strike them. I hand him my box and flick open his lighter.
“That’s it, baby girl, burn the legacy. ”His eyes are molten, pupils wide.
“This is yours to end,” he says.
The words hit like a bell.
I flick the lighter, a small flame bursting to life as big ones race down the hallways upstairs.
I stare at it for a long time, watching the way it dances.
Julian leans in, mouth to my ear. “Now, Amara. Be free.”
I toss the lighter deep into the corridor, onto the marble. The fire catches in an instant, blue at first, then yellow and orange, the heat surging up and out. The flames race along the lines of fuel, up the walls, under the doors, down the hallways where the portraits and plaques already wait for their own erasure.
Everyone else lights and drops theirs and we all watch for a moment.
Fire is as beautiful as it is deadly.
The room fills with the sound—hissing, popping, the greedy roar of the beast we have birthed. The windows blacken in seconds, glass cracking from the heat. Smoke billows up to the chandeliers, then down to the floor, choking the past and every lie it ever told.
We back away, to the doors, to the place where the air is still safe to breathe.
Outside, the sun is finally up, the world lit with a gold hue that feels unreal. We walk far enough down the quad that we can watch Westpoint burn safely. The flames lick higher, devouring the roof, turning the spires to torches.
I laugh. I can’t help it.
Julian’s arm finds my waist, pulling me tight against him. His mouth is at my temple, his breath in my hair. I feel his pride, his joy, his absolute confidence in me.
I feel it too.
Bam and Dahlia howl, a long, wild note. Colton and Eve clap, whooping and hollering. Rhett kisses Isolde, kneeling to presshis face to her stomach, a promise for the future that no one will ever touch.
