The police station felt too clean for what Heath had come to do.
That was the first thing that bothered him.
Not the badges. Not the glass doors. Not even the way officers moved with that calm, practiced efficiency like nothing in the world could surprise them.
It was the cleanliness.
Like nothing bad ever happened here.
Like nobody ever got thrown into a cell and forgotten about.
Heath stood across the street with his hood pulled low, hands shoved deep in his pockets.
The fabric around his head hid most of his hair, but not all of it. Tiny orange flickers still leaked out when his breathing got uneven.
He told himself it didn't matter.
He told himself he was just here to fix things.
That was the word he kept using.
Fix.
Not break.
Not destroy.
Fix.
But the longer he stood there watching the station, the less that word meant.
A cruiser pulled in.
Another pulled out.
Two officers walked through the front doors carrying folders, talking about something mundane—shift schedules, paperwork, coffee.
Nobody looked like a villain.
That was the problem.
Heath swallowed hard.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath. "Okay. You go in. You ask. You get Holt. You leave."
Simple.
Except nothing about the last twenty-four hours had been simple.
His stomach twisted as he thought about Holt in a cell.
About Jackie missing entirely.
About everyone acting like waiting was an answer.
His fists clenched.
A small spark flared between his fingers.
He shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets immediately.
"Not now," he hissed to himself. "Not here."
He exhaled slowly.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
It didn't help much.
The doors of the station opened again.
More officers stepped out.
This time, their posture changed.
Faster movements.
Sharper voices.
One of them tapped something on a radio.
"Repeat that?" the officer said, frowning. "New Salem High?"
Heath stiffened.
Another officer came down the steps, already adjusting gear on his belt.
"Yeah, possible containment issue. Kid's report says an escaped suspect is on campus."
Heath blinked.
Kid?
Escaped suspect?
Something in his chest tightened.
Not Holt.
Not Jackie.
Someone else.
Someone had reported something.
His jaw tightened instinctively.
He didn't know the details.
Didn't care.
What mattered was that something was happening there.
And that meant—
"Move," one officer said. "We're rolling out in two."
The group started toward the cruisers.
Doors opened.
Keys jangled.
Radio chatter filled the air.
Heath's breath caught.
This was it.
This was the moment.
If they were all going to New Salem High—
Then the station would be lighter.
Less guarded.
Less pressure.
Less people watching.
His mind immediately tried to turn that into a plan.
A bad plan.
A loud plan.
A Heath Burns plan.
His hands began to warm inside his pockets.
No.
No, this was good.
This was opportunity.
He stepped forward before he fully realized he was moving.
Crossed the street.
The heat around him built with every step.
Faster.
Hotter.
The edge of his hood glowed faintly orange.
He didn't notice.
Not at first.
The officers were still talking.
Still loading gear.
Still moving with that calm confidence that made everything worse.
Heath reached the edge of the station lot.
One cruiser door slammed.
The sound echoed through his chest.
And something inside him snapped into motion.
Not anger this time.
Purpose.
He stepped forward again—
—and the air around him shimmered.
A faint wave of heat rolled off his body.
One officer paused mid-step.
Frowned.
"…You feel that?"
"Feel what?"
"Heat spike."
The officer glanced around.
Still no direct attention.
Heath was still half-shadowed by the edge of the lot, just another kid-shaped silhouette until he wasn't.
Just another problem the world hadn't decided to notice yet.
He swallowed.
This is it.
Go in.
Ask.
Take control.
Fix it.
The fire around his hands surged.
Bright now.
Visible.
His hoodie sleeves began to glow faintly at the edges.
He didn't stop.
Not yet.
Because part of him still believed he could walk in there and demand answers and everything would bend around him.
That belief lasted exactly three seconds.
Then—
A single officer stepped out of the station carrying a tactical vest.
Looked up.
And saw him.
Everything stopped.
Not just for Heath.
For the officer too.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Just looked at each other across the lot like the world had narrowed down to one impossible point.
Then the officer's expression shifted.
Not fear.
Not aggression.
Something quieter.
Recognition—followed immediately by calculation.
"…Kid?" the officer called out, voice steady. "You lost?"
Another officer turned.
Then another.
Not alarmed yet. Not reaching for weapons. Just noticing.
Heath didn't answer.
His throat had gone dry.
Because the fire wasn't just flickering anymore.
It was responding.
Heat rippled off him in visible waves now, bending the air around his outline.
The asphalt under his shoes shimmered faintly.
"Oh," he whispered.
That single word landed heavier than anything else that day.
Because for the first time since leaving school—
He actually saw himself.
Fourteen.
Alone.
Standing in front of a police station.
Burning.
With no idea how to turn it off.
One officer started to lift a radio.
"Control, we've got a—"
"Hold."
The voice came from behind the group.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just firm enough to cut through everything else.
The officer froze mid-motion.
Heath barely registered it at first.
Because he was too busy realizing something worse.
They weren't reacting like he expected.
No panic surge. No shouting. No scramble.
Just… pause.
Like someone had taken command of the moment without needing to raise their voice.
The officers shifted slightly apart.
Making space.
Not for him.
For the speaker.
An older officer stepped into view.
He hadn't been with the group heading for the cruisers.
Hadn't rushed out like the others.
He'd stayed behind.
Watching.
The whole time.
That realization landed late in Heath's mind. Too late to undo anything.
The man didn't draw a weapon.
Didn't reach for a radio.
Didn't even look surprised.
He just looked at Heath like he was trying to understand something he'd seen before—but not exactly like this.
"…Everyone else, go," he said calmly.
A beat.
One officer hesitated. "Sir—"
"I said go."
And they went.
Not running.
Not panicked.
Just… redirected.
One by one, they peeled away toward the vehicles or back into the station. Radios clicking. Doors closing. Orders shifting.
No one argued.
No one stayed.
Heath's stomach dropped as he realized what that meant.
This wasn't escalation.
This was removal.
They were leaving him behind for someone else to handle.
And nobody looked worried enough to think it was dangerous.
Which somehow made it worse.
The lot emptied quickly.
Cruiser doors shut.
Engines started.
Then pulled away.
The sound faded down the street toward New Salem High.
Within a minute, the station front had gone quiet.
Almost empty.
Almost.
Only the older officer remained.
He didn't move closer.
Didn't retreat either.
Just stood between Heath and the building like a quiet boundary line.
He looked at Heath again.
Really looked.
"…You're a monster," he said.
No insult.
No fear.
Just recognition.
Heath's flames flickered harder at the word.
Old instinct. Old reaction.
But the officer didn't react to that either.
Just exhaled slowly, like the word wasn't new to him. Like it wasn't even surprising.
"…Yeah," he added after a moment. "I konda fucking figured that out a long time ago pig."
Heath blinked.
That wasn't how this was supposed to go.
Behind the officer, the station doors stayed open.
Empty now.
Unguarded in the way that only happens when everyone assumes someone else is handling it.
The officer shifted his stance slightly—not aggressive, just attentive.
"You here for something?" he asked.
Heath's mouth opened.
Closed.
Because suddenly, every version of the answer sounded insane.
I'm here to break someone out.
I'm here to fix something I don't understand.
I'm here because nobody is doing anything.
None of it fit anymore.
The fire around his hands stuttered.
Smaller now.
Less certain.
The officer noticed.
Not with alarm.
With interest.
"…You're not steady," he said quietly.
Heath bristled. "I am."
The flames flickered in contradiction.
The officer didn't challenge it.
Just nodded once, like he'd expected that answer too.
"Sure," he said. "But you're burning without meaning to."
That hit differently.
Not an accusation.
A diagnosis.
Heath looked down at his hands again.
Really looked.
The fire wasn't controlled.
It was reactive.
Every spike in his thoughts fed it.
Every breath changed it.
Every emotion pulled it one way or another.
He wasn't holding it.
He was being carried by it.
The realization made his chest tighten.
"…I didn't come here to hurt anyone," he said, quieter, the lie tasting bitter now for some reason.
The officer nodded again.
"I believe you."
That was worse.
Because it didn't come with fear.
Or distance.
Or caution.
It came like fact.
Like the officer had already decided what kind of danger Heath was—and more importantly, what kind he wasn't.
A long silence stretched.
The station behind them stayed still.
No one returned.
No backup came.
Just the two of them.
Heath, burning unevenly.
The officer, watching without flinching.
Then the officer spoke again.
"…You don't have to do this the hard way."
Heath swallowed.
His flames dimmed another fraction.
"…Then what way is there?" he asked.
The officer glanced toward the now-empty street where the cruisers had gone.
Toward the direction of the school.
"…The one where you stop before you become the reason someone else has to come back here," he said simply.
That landed heavy.
Not like a threat.
Like advice given too late too many times.
Heath's breathing slowed without him noticing.
The fire around his hands shrank again.
Still there.
But no longer wild.
No longer spilling outward.
Just… waiting.
The officer didn't move.
Didn't press.
Just stayed there.
Giving space for something Heath hadn't had all day.
A choice that wasn't already exploding in his hands.
And slowly—very slowly—
the fire stopped climbing.