He pounds harder, voice hoarse now. “Please! I can fix this! I’ll delete the backups—Asher, please!”
I say nothing. Just stand there a moment longer, watching through the glass as the smoke thickens and flames curl higher. He’s screaming now—raw, and panicked; it’s the kind of sound a man makes when he finally realizes no one’s coming to save him.
The fire catches the solvents on the back shelf. A muffledboomreverberates through the floor, the warning shot of something far worse coming. The chemicals in here—once they fully ignite—it won’t just be a fire. It’ll be a crater.
And I hope he feels every second of it.
I turn and walk away, boots steady on the tile, smoke licking behind me like judgment I’m not afraid to face
Chapter 58
What you survive still marks you
Violet
I don’t sleep. I just… blink slower.
The motel is beige, quiet, and it smells like mildew and dust—the kind of place where no one asks questions as long as the card clears. There’s a sticky note on the cracked headboard that saysDo not remove the batteries from the smoke detector, likethatis the biggest danger this room has ever held.
I haven’t changed my clothes. I don’t have anything to change into. I left with my purse and the pounding in my chest. Not because I’m trying to punish myself.
Because I don’t feel real enough to start over with something as simple as a clean shirt.
Like if I catch my reflection in the bathroom mirror, it’ll be… an outline. A smear. The shadow of someone who used to be Violet.
The TV drones in the background. Laugh tracks. Late-night reruns. That awful static between commercials that sounds like the universe chewing on tinfoil. I don’t care what’s on. It’s just noise. Something to keep me from sinking all the way under.
I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, one sock half-off, sweatshirt balled behind my head, when the screen flashes red.
BREAKING NEWS.
CHEMICAL FIRE AT CRIMSON INC.
My blood turns to ice.
The camera pans over twisted metal and rising smoke. Sirens. Hazmat suits. Reporters talking over each other about environmental hazards and evacuation protocols like they’re reading from a script and not standing in the middle of someone’s apocalypse.
And then—
A figure.
Him.
Still. Silent. Watching it all burn.
He did it. I know he did.
He found out I left—and he lit the match.
Something in my chest fractures. Not cleanly. Not like a break you can wrap and heal. More like a crack that runs through the foundation and makes everything unstable.
I sit there frozen for ten full minutes, breathing in shallow stutters, waiting for the fire to leap through the screen, and climb into my throat. It’s like my body forgot how to move. How to react.
I don’t cry. I just let the smoke seep into my bones like it belongs there.
What did he destroy?Just the lab? The data? My research? His?Ours?The empire he built on the back of my desperation?
I want to scream. I want to claw at the screen until my nails split. I want to make it make sense. But I just sit there, small and still, while the world I built to save Ella turns to ash on live television.
