The night swallowed me whole as I ran, feet pounding against the pavement. My breath came in ragged gasps, the chill of the air doing little to smother the warmth radiating from my skin. Every shadow felt alive, every corner a potential ambush.
I didn't know where I was going. Marcus's house? Too dangerous. They'd find me there in a heartbeat. The park? No, too open. The only place I could think of was the old abandoned warehouse near the edge of town. It had been a hangout for kids who wanted to hide from the world—like me now.
By the time I got there, my legs were burning, and my hands were trembling with residual sparks. The warehouse loomed over me, a skeleton of rusted steel and shattered windows. I slipped inside, ducking through a hole in the chain-link fence.
Inside, the darkness was suffocating, but at least it was quiet. For a moment, I thought I'd lost them.
Until I heard the hum.
A low, mechanical sound, like something powering up. I froze, my back pressed against a crumbling pillar, my heart hammering in my chest. Then I saw it—a red light scanning the room, moving in slow, deliberate arcs.
Drones.
These people weren't playing games.
The first drone passed close to where I was hiding. It was sleek and black, the size of a small dog, with rotating blades keeping it aloft. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath it, and I had the sickening feeling it wasn't just for show.
I clenched my fists, and to my horror, the fire answered. Flames licked up my arms, faint but growing stronger. My breath caught. Could they see it?
Before I could decide, one of the drones turned sharply, its red light locking onto me.
Crap.
The drone let out a sharp whine, and then something shot from it—a small, dart-like projectile. Instinct took over. I threw my hands up, and the fire erupted. The dart disintegrated midair, and the drone exploded in a shower of sparks and metal.
The sound was deafening. If they hadn't known where I was before, they did now.
The hum grew louder. More drones. I bolted, weaving through the maze of rusted machinery and debris. I could hear footsteps now, heavy and purposeful. They were closing in.
"Ethan!"
The voice stopped me dead in my tracks. It wasn't one of the men in black. It was a girl's voice, sharp and urgent.
I turned and saw her standing in the shadows. She was around my age, with short, messy black hair and a look of pure determination. She wasn't dressed like the others—no suit, no tactical gear. Just a leather jacket and combat boots.
"Come with me if you want to live," she said, her voice low but firm.
I blinked, my brain struggling to catch up. "What?"
"No time to explain." She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "They're not here to capture you. They're here to erase you."
Erase me? The words sent a chill down my spine, but I didn't argue. She pulled me toward a hidden doorway in the far wall, and we slipped inside just as the drones and their handlers burst into the warehouse.
We ran down a narrow corridor, the air damp and musty. She led me through twists and turns until we emerged into what looked like an underground garage.
A motorcycle sat in the center, sleek and black, with glowing blue lines etched along its frame. She swung onto it and tossed me a helmet.
"Get on," she ordered.
I hesitated for half a second before climbing on behind her.
"Hold tight," she said, revving the engine.
The bike roared to life, and we shot forward, the world blurring around us.
The ride was a blur of adrenaline and questions I couldn't ask fast enough. "Who are you? What do they want? How did you know—"
"Later," she snapped, her voice sharp. "Right now, we need to get you somewhere safe."
The road stretched out before us, empty and endless. For a moment, it felt like we'd escaped. But then headlights appeared behind us, and my stomach dropped.
"They don't give up, do they?" I muttered.
"Nope," she replied, glancing over her shoulder. "Hold on!"
The car behind us accelerated, and I could see the men in suits through the windshield. One of them leaned out the window, aiming something that looked a lot like a gun.
I felt the fire stir again, eager and angry.
"What are you doing?" she shouted as I let go of her waist and turned around.
"Trust me!" I yelled back.
The fire came easily this time, surging up my arms and pooling in my palms. I focused on the car, imagining the flames hitting it like a cannonball.
The fire obeyed.
A blazing ball of heat shot from my hands, slamming into the car's hood. The explosion lit up the night, and the car swerved off the road, crashing into a ditch.
I turned back around, my heart racing. The girl glanced at me, her lips curving into a small, impressed smile.
"Not bad," she said.
"Thanks," I replied, though I wasn't sure if I was thanking her for the compliment or saving my life.
"Name's Lila," she said after a moment. "Welcome to the fight, Ethan. It's about to get a lot worse."