The performance began simply. A single flame cupped in my palm, seemingly born from nothing but air and will. I heard the collective intake of breath from the audience—they always fell for the classics. The flame grew as I fed it with controlled breaths, coaxing it higher until it danced above my fingertips like a living thing.
Then I did what no rational person would do: I opened my mouth and swallowed it whole.
Darkness again, followed by gasps. When the lights returned, all four of us stood in formation, our bodies outlined in blue flame that licked up our arms but didn't burn. It was an illusion, of course—a carefully crafted trick of chemistry and timing—but the effect was undeniable. We were fire incarnate.
The routine progressed through increasingly complex manipulations. Fire breathed outward in controlled bursts,forming shapes that twisted and morphed in the air. Dragons. Phoenixes. Demons that crawled along the invisible wires stretched above the audience's heads.
Throughout it all, I was hyperaware of Lucy watching. Between sequences, my eyes found hers, gauging her reaction.Wonder. Worry. Pride.
As we moved into the final sequence, my body operated on muscle memory while my mind remained fixated on the silver-haired woman in the front row. The way she leaned forward in her seat, fingers gripping the armrests. The slight parting of her lips as we executed a particularly dangerous maneuver. The barely perceptible sigh of relief when we emerged unscathed.
The crowd faded into background noise. The other spectators became nothing more than shadows. There was only Lucy, only her reactions that mattered. It was both a weakness and a strength, this singular focus. In the past, I would have despised such vulnerability. Now, I found myself almost relishing it.
"Finale positions," I commanded as the music swelled toward its climactic notes.
We took our places at the four corners of the stage. Quick as lightning, we tethered cables lowered from the tent ceiling to the hidden harness systems integrated into the outer suits. Then we each raised our arms in unison. This was the moment we’d appear to become living torches and take flight above the crowd. It was dangerous, requiring absolute precision and trust. One mistake could turn spectacle into tragedy.
I locked eyes with Lucy one last time before the flames engulfed us.
Heat seared across my skin as the specialized fuel ignited, wrapping each of us in a controlled inferno. Through the dancing flames, I could still see the audience, their faces turned upward in awe as we were slowly lifted by nearly invisible cables.
We rose higher, our bodies appearing to float on columns of fire. The heat was intense but manageable through our protective gear—though the audience couldn't see the layers of treated fabric beneath the flames. To them, we were defying nature itself.
At the peak of our ascension, we hung suspended over the crowd. I initiated the signal, and all four of us released a cascade of harmless sparks that rained down, eliciting delighted gasps and applause.
Through the curtain of falling embers, I searched for Lucy. She was standing now, her head tilted back to watch us, face illuminated by the shower of sparks. Even from this height, I could see the conflicting emotions playing across her features—pride and terror wrapped into one beautiful package.
The music reached its final, thunderous notes as we were lowered back to the stage. The flames surrounding us died on cue, leaving only smoldering embers that glowed like dying stars against our dark costumes. We bowed as one, the applause washing over us in waves.
I straightened, chest heaving with exertion, sweat trickling down my spine beneath the layers of protective clothing. The audience was on their feet, but I only had eyes for one person. Lucy was clapping wildly, her expression a mixture of relief and exhilaration. That look alone made every burn, every scar, every hour of practice worth it.
Backstage, I peeled the fire suit off in pieces. Beneath it, my skin was flushed with heat, the black protective undergarments clinging to my sweat-slick body. I ran a hand through my hair, feeling it stick up in damp spikes.
I had just pulled on a fresh black t-shirt when I heard her voice calling my name. I turned to see Lucy pushing her way past a stagehand, ignoring his protests about unauthorized personnel.
"Ma'am, you can't?—"
"She's with me," I cut him off.
Lucy's face lit up when she saw me, and she broke into a run, crossing the distance between us in seconds. She launched herself at me with complete trust that I would catch her, which I did, my arms wrapping around her waist as her momentum sent us both stumbling back a step.
"That was incredible!" she exclaimed, her arms tight around my neck. "You were literally on fire, Asher! On actual fire!"
I couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, spinning her once before setting her back on her feet. "That's generally the point of a fire performance, Venom."
She pulled back just enough to look at my face, studying me as if checking for damage. "Are you okay? You're not burned or anything?"
"Professional, remember?" I tapped my chest. "Been doing this since before you were allowed to have matches."
Lucy inhaled deeply, her eyes closing briefly. "You smell like smoke."
The simple statement, delivered with such obvious pleasure, made me swell with need for her.
NITRO.
I twirled the blade between my fingers, the cold steel a familiar comfort, letting the point rotate against the center of my palm. Not enough to draw blood; I didn’t need to cut myself to feel. Not anymore. Not since Lucy chose to stay.
The backstage area felt too small, too confined, the walls of the rebuilt tent seeming to pulse with memories I'd rather forget. The sound of the cables snapping. The splintering gunshot of a king pole giving way. The way Asher looked at me when I stumbled into view around the corner of the collapsing structure. The way he looked fucking terrified. The way my heart plummeted into my guts the minute he said Lucy went inside after me. I’d already known she was someone I needed, someone I craved. But, up until that moment, I’d been hellbent on denying it. The minute I thought she was a goner, everything changed.
