Something snapped.

With a guttural cry torn straight from the depths of rage, Bette lunged. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t shout back, didn’t posture. She moved, a blur of fury and instinct, her boots pounding against the scorched earth as she closed the distance between them.

But Chang was quicker than he looked. He laughed, a sharp, delighted bark and stumbled back, hand diving into his jacket. With one fluid motion, he produced a dark, cloth-wrapped bottle, its neck stuffed with a filthy rag. He struck a lighter with his thumb, the flame sputtering for a heartbeat before catching. Without taking his eyes off Bette, he touched it to the rag—just long enough for it to hiss and flare then hurled the flaming bottle at her feet.

Glass shattered. Fire bloomed.

A blossom of orange and white exploded in front of her, forcing her to twist away.

Liquid fire sprayed outward like a living thing, snatching hungrily at the air and the ground alike. Bette staggered, one foot slipping in the dirt as a splash of the ignited accelerant kissed her calves.

Pain tore through her, raw, searing. She went down on one knee, gritting her teeth against a scream, and slammed her fists into the earth, dragging up fistfuls of dust. She beat at her flaming pants with dirt, choking on the smoke and fury, until the fire died, leaving her legs blistered, the fabric charred and clinging.

When she looked up through watering eyes, he was already gone.

Chang vanished into the fire like a phantom, ducking low, weaving through the collapsing shadows, somehow finding a path that hadn’t yet closed. His shape was barely visible, outlined briefly by the blaze, a demon swallowed by the inferno he had summoned.

But he left something behind.

A hessian sack, roughly knotted and slung from his belt, had slipped and fallen in his escape. It fell, unnoticed by him in the chaos, and landed with a heavy thump in the dirt not ten feet from Bette.

She staggered to her feet, one hand gripping her thigh where the heat had seared through her trousers, smoke curling up around her like a living thing. Every breath burned, thick with the stench of scorched wood, burning petrol, and the bitter tang of plastic beginning to melt. Her eyes streamed as she turned, trying to orient herself in the chaos.