The days blurred together after Marcus's vow, each one heavier than the last, each whisper sharper. Sophie walked through Windmere High like a ghost, clutching her books, her chest tight with dread. Ethan's eyes followed her everywhere—cold, amused, predatory. He never needed to touch her again. His power was in suggestion, in the way his smirk made everyone else sharpen their cruelty, in the way Marcus's absence left her exposed. She felt the weight of it pressing down on her, suffocating her until her lungs burned.
But Marcus returned—not to school, not to the daylight, but to her nights. He came through her window, quieter now, his eyes darker, his hands shaking when he thought she wasn't looking. Sophie held him through the silence, her heart hammering every time she felt him flinch in his sleep, every time he muttered Ethan's name like a curse he couldn't shake. She wanted to save him, but she didn't know how. She wanted to hold him until the fire went out, but she feared she'd be burned to ash in the process.
One night, he told her everything. They lay tangled in her sheets, his arm heavy across her stomach, the scent of smoke clinging to his hoodie. His voice was low, raw, as if it cost him something to let the words out. He told her about his father—the fists, the shouting, the nights spent hiding in shadows. He told her about the streets, about learning to fight before he could drive, about carrying anger in his chest because it was the only thing that kept him alive. He told her he had never believed in anything lasting, anything worth protecting—until her.
Sophie's heart cracked with every word. She turned to him, cupping his face, kissing the scars on his skin. "You're not your father," she whispered. "You're not your anger. You're more than that."
His eyes shimmered, but he shook his head. "No, Sophie. I'm fire. And fire only destroys."
"Not always," she whispered. "Sometimes fire saves."
He kissed her then, slow and trembling, like he wanted to believe her but didn't know how. Sophie kissed him back fiercely, her tears slipping between their lips, her hands holding him as if she could anchor him to the world. She wanted to scream at Ethan, at fate, at whatever darkness kept clawing Marcus apart. But all she could do was hold him, write for him, and pray it was enough.
The next morning, Sophie woke to find Marcus gone. Her window open, the air cold, his hoodie folded neatly on her chair. Her chest hollowed with panic. She called him, texted him, but there was nothing. At school, Ethan smirked at her, his silence louder than any words. Something had shifted. She could feel it.
That night, Sophie went to the warehouse. The place smelled of damp metal and old smoke, its walls holding every memory of them, every secret. She sat on the floor, her notebook open, and began to write. She wrote until her hand cramped, until her tears blurred the ink. She wrote of Marcus's fire, of the chains Ethan wrapped around them, of the choice to burn rather than break.
The door slammed open.
Marcus stumbled inside.
Sophie's breath caught. His face was bloodied again, his fists raw, his eyes wild. He dropped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting, his chest heaving. Sophie rushed to him, her notebook falling to the ground, her hands trembling as she reached for his face. "Marcus—"
"Don't," he rasped, flinching.
Her throat tightened. "What happened?"
His laughter was bitter, broken. "I let him win."
Sophie's chest clenched. "What do you mean?"
Marcus lifted his eyes, hollow and burning. "Ethan. I couldn't hold back. I found him after school. I hit him. Again and again. I couldn't stop. And he laughed, Sophie. He laughed while I was breaking him." His voice cracked. "Because that's what he wanted. He wanted me to become everything he says I am."
Tears burned Sophie's eyes. She grabbed his face, forcing him to meet her gaze. "You are not him. Do you hear me? You are not what he says you are."
His hands shook as they grabbed hers. "Then what am I, Sophie? Because I don't know anymore. I can't tell where I end and the fire begins."
"You're mine," she whispered fiercely. "That's who you are. You're the boy I love. The boy I refuse to lose. That's who you are."
Marcus's face crumpled, his forehead dropping to hers. His breath came ragged, his body trembling as if her words were the only thing holding him together. "Say it again," he whispered.
"You're mine," Sophie repeated, tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're mine, Marcus. Always."
And then he kissed her, desperate, broken, clinging to her as if she was the only thing keeping him from shattering completely. Sophie wrapped herself around him, pouring every ounce of her love into the kiss, into the way she held him, into the way she refused to let him go.
When they finally broke apart, Marcus's eyes were raw, glistening with something fragile and unspoken. "I don't deserve you," he whispered.
"Maybe not," Sophie said, her voice trembling. "But you're all I want."
They stayed like that until the storm outside quieted, until the world stilled around them. Sophie fell asleep against his chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt, her dreams haunted by fire and shadows.
When she woke, Marcus was still there, watching her with eyes that burned. He kissed her hair, whispered something she didn't catch, and held her as if the world outside didn't exist. But Sophie knew it did. She knew Ethan wasn't finished. She knew the war was still raging, and Marcus was losing ground every day.
But she also knew this: she wasn't letting go. No matter how deep the fire cut, no matter how dark the shadows grew, she would stay.
Because Marcus wasn't just fire. He was hers. And she would burn to ash before she ever let him fall alone.