One month later, the cell door opened.
"Tarse Vicks. You're free."
He didn't move right away.
Then he stood, picked up the small duffel bag by his bed, and walked out. No goodbye. No handshake. Just cold stares from guards who didn't believe he should be released except Jack who was happy he is getting out.
Outside, the sun burned his eyes.
He hadn't seen it in weeks.
As he walked down the street, he heard it.
"There he is."
"That's the witch-blood kid."
"Why let him out? He should've been put down."
"He's cursed. Keep your kids away from him."
Tarse didn't react.
He just kept walking.
---
He walked for hours.
No taxi driver stopped for him.
"Sorry. No freaks in the car."
"I don't take witches."
"Get lost, pyro."
One even spat near his shoe.
Still, Tarse kept walking.
By the time the sun was down, he'd knocked on the doors of five apartment buildings. No one wanted him. Some locked the doors. One manager straight up said:
"You think I want the firestarter from the news living here? Try the sewer."
He almost turned around and went back to the cell.
Almost.
Then he saw it.
A faded sign over a quiet brick building:
**"Morris Housing Complex - Everyone is Welcom."**
Tarse raised an eyebrow.
He walked in.
---
Behind the desk sat a woman around thirty, legs crossed, pen in hand. Her hair was black and long, and her lipstick was deep red. She looked up with a raised brow.
"You renting?"
"Yeah."
She tilted her head. "You're Tarse, right? Fire boy?"
He winced. "You still renting?"
She grinned. "Sure. I'm not scared of a little burn. Name's Mary Morris. I own the place. Also—" she pointed at a ringless finger, "—still single, in case you know anyone who wants to get married before I turn forty or maybe yourself, are you interested."
"Uh."
"Kidding. Mostly. Apartment's on the second floor. It's decent. Bedroom, bathroom, toilet actually works. Water's hot. Neighbors are quiet. Rent's cheap."
Tarse blinked. "You're... actually okay with this?"
Mary stood and handed him the keys.
"Look, everyone's got a past. I've dated worse."
He didn't know what to say.
So he nodded, took the key, and went upstairs.
---
The apartment wasn't fancy, but it was more than enough. A bed. A bathroom. A kitchen. Peace.
Tarse sat on the floor and let out a breath.
Finally.