The town felt smaller every day, as if the walls of Windmere were closing in around Sophie, squeezing the air from her lungs. Every street she walked carried whispers. Every glance seemed sharpened by suspicion. Marcus had become a ghost in daylight—spoken of in hushed tones, feared, hated—but in the night, he was still hers. He climbed through her window, bruised and tired, and collapsed into her bed like it was the only place he belonged. She traced the cuts on his knuckles, kissed the salt of sweat and smoke from his skin, and listened to the way his heart hammered when the silence grew too heavy.
But even those nights were changing. Marcus was quieter now, heavier, as if Ethan's shadow had sunk claws into him. He rarely laughed anymore, not even his bitter smirk. Sometimes Sophie would wake in the night to find him sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the floor, his shoulders rigid. She would crawl behind him, wrap her arms around his waist, and press her face into his back. "I'm here," she would whisper. But he never answered.
At school, Ethan thrived. He had mastered the art of twisting Sophie's life into a spectacle, planting rumors, whispering lies, always ensuring Marcus's name lingered in every cruel sentence. Sophie became "the broken girl chasing fire," "Hale's mistake," "Hale's possession." Her locker filled with cruel notes. Sometimes with ash. Once, with the charred remains of paper, as if someone had burned her words and left the bones behind.
One afternoon, as she slipped into the art room, Sophie found Ethan waiting. He leaned against the desk, casual, his smirk infuriating. "You look tired," he drawled.
"Get out," Sophie snapped, her voice shaking.
"Touchy." He stepped closer, eyes glinting. "He's fading, you know. Your precious Marcus. He's burning out. And when he does, he'll take you with him."
"You don't know anything," Sophie hissed.
"Oh, but I do." Ethan's smirk widened. "He's weak when it comes to you. That's why I'll win. Because I can break him without lifting a finger. All I have to do is hurt you."
Sophie's blood turned to ice. "If you touch me—"
"What?" Ethan stepped so close she could feel his breath. "Marcus will kill me? Good. That's the point. Because once he does, he's finished. Expelled, locked up, gone. And you'll be alone. Just like you were before he noticed you."
Her throat ached, her fists trembling. She wanted to scream, to shove him, to tear that smirk from his face. But the door opened, and a teacher entered, and Ethan slipped out like smoke, leaving her shaking.
That night, Sophie told Marcus everything. His body went rigid, his fists clenched, his jaw trembling. "I swear to God, I'll end him," he growled.
"Marcus, no—"
"Yes!" His voice cracked, raw with rage. "You don't understand, Sophie. He won't stop. He won't stop until he's destroyed you. And I can't—" His voice broke. "I can't watch that happen."
Sophie grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. "Then don't fight him on his terms. Fight him on yours. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you break."
His eyes burned, desperate. "And what if I already am?"
She kissed him then, fierce and trembling, her tears wetting his lips. "Then let me break with you. But don't leave me behind."
For a moment, the fire in him softened. He pulled her into his arms, holding her so tightly it hurt. "You're the only thing I believe in," he whispered.
The next day, Marcus didn't come to school. Whispers spread that he'd been seen fighting downtown, that police had been called, that his name was on every teacher's lips. Sophie's stomach twisted with fear. She tried to call him, text him, anything, but he didn't answer. That night, she waited by her window until dawn, but he never came.
The second night was worse. Her chest ached with panic, her notebook filling with frantic words, her tears staining the ink. She couldn't sleep. She couldn't breathe. She could only imagine him bleeding somewhere, or worse, lost to the fire he couldn't control.
On the third night, she went to the warehouse. The air inside was heavy, damp, thick with silence. She waited for hours, curled in the corner, notebook in her lap, but he didn't come. She was about to leave when the door creaked open.
Marcus staggered inside.
Sophie leapt to her feet, relief crashing over her—until she saw him clearly. His face was battered, his lip split, his knuckles torn. His hoodie was streaked with blood. His eyes were hollow, wild.
"Marcus," Sophie whispered, rushing forward.
He caught her hands, his grip bruising, desperate. "I can't keep doing this," he rasped.
Her chest ached. "Then stop. Please. Just stop."
His eyes burned into hers, fierce and broken. "I don't know how."
Tears blurred her vision. She cupped his face, ignoring the blood. "Then let me teach you. Please, Marcus. Don't let him win."
He trembled, his body shaking under her hands. Slowly, painfully, he lowered his forehead to hers. "If I lose you, I lose everything."
"You won't," she whispered.
And he kissed her, hard, desperate, tasting of blood and salt and fire. Sophie clung to him, her tears mixing with his, her heart breaking with every breath.
They collapsed to the floor together, their hands entwined, their silence heavy. Sophie pressed her head to his chest, listening to his ragged heartbeat. For hours, they stayed like that, two broken pieces holding each other together.
When dawn crept in through the cracks, Marcus finally spoke. "I'm going to end it," he whispered.
Fear knifed through her. "What do you mean?"
"Ethan," Marcus muttered. His eyes were wild, his jaw tight. "I can't let him keep doing this. To you. To us. It ends with him."
"No," Sophie gasped, clutching his shirt. "Marcus, please—"
He shook his head, his hands gripping hers. "You don't understand. If I don't stop him, he'll destroy you. And I can't let that happen. I'd rather burn myself out than watch him touch you again."
Tears streamed down Sophie's face. "Then let me fight with you. Don't do this alone."
He looked at her, his eyes softer, breaking. "You're the only thing I can't lose."
"Then don't leave me behind," she whispered.
The silence stretched, thick and suffocating. Finally, Marcus kissed her hand, his lips trembling. "Then stay close. No matter what happens."
And Sophie knew, as the sun rose and the fire in his eyes burned brighter, that the war was coming. Ethan had pushed too far, and Marcus was ready to ignite. She only prayed she could hold him when the fire consumed them both.
That night, Sophie wrote until her hands bled. Words of fire and chains, of love that destroyed and saved in the same breath. She wrote of Marcus, the boy who burned, the boy she refused to let go. She filled every page with promises, with screams, with the truth she could never say aloud.
And when she was done, she tucked the notebook under her pillow, closed her eyes, and whispered into the darkness: "I'll burn with you."