Eli woke up trying to burn him.
Ethan saw the warning in the fingers first.
The boy had been curled behind the desk for most of the night, soaked gray coat pulled tight around his ribs, one hand locked around the dented can as if someone might steal it from him in his sleep. Fever came off him in slow waves. The small office smelled of wet carpet, rusted sprinkler water, and old smoke.
Ethan sat against the door with the knife across his knees.
When Eli's right hand twitched, Ethan was already moving.
Orange light opened between the boy's fingers.
Ethan crossed the room, dropped to one knee, and pinned Eli's wrist to the wet carpet with the flat of the knife.
Not the edge.
The flat.
The flame hissed out against the soaked floor.
Eli's eyes snapped open.
For one second, he looked lost.
Then he saw Ethan above him.
He bucked hard.
"Get off!"
"No burning indoors."
Eli twisted under him. His free hand clawed at Ethan's face. Ethan leaned back just enough for the nails to scrape his jaw instead of his eye.
Fire flickered again under the knife.
Ethan pressed down.
"I said no burning indoors."
"I'll burn your hand off!"
"You'll fill the room with smoke and call more things up from the lower floors."
"I don't care."
"You will when they start eating you."
Eli froze for half a breath.
Then the anger came back.
"You tied me?"
"No."
"You took my coat?"
"It's beside you."
"My can?"
"Also beside you."
Eli looked fast, suspicious, fever-bright eyes darting to the gray coat and the dented can near his knee. His fingers flexed toward them.
Ethan lifted the knife away and stood.
Eli scrambled backward until his shoulders hit the desk. He snatched the coat and can together, hugging both to his chest. The glow in his palm stayed small, hidden between his fingers.
Ethan pointed the knife toward the floor.
"Put it out."
Eli bared his teeth. "Make me."
Ethan did not move closer.
"I already did."
The boy's face tightened.
For a moment, Ethan thought he would throw fire just to prove he still could.
Instead, Eli closed his fist.
The glow vanished.
Outside the office, water dripped through a broken ceiling panel into something metal. Tick. Tick. Tick. The rest of the building stayed silent, but silence did not mean empty.
Ethan went back to the door.
"There's water."
He nodded toward a cracked bottle on the floor.
Eli stared at it.
"Poison?"
"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have dragged you away from the leeches."
"You dragged me?"
"You were unconscious."
"I had it handled."
Ethan looked at the burns running under the cloth around Eli's wrist. Thin orange lines still pulsed beneath the skin.
"No."
Eli's mouth twisted.
Thirst won before pride did. He grabbed the bottle, sniffed it, and drank too quickly. Water spilled down his chin. He swallowed until the bottle caved in with a dry crack.
Then he threw it at Ethan.
Ethan let it hit the door beside him.
"Medicine next."
"No."
"You have fever."
"No."
"The heat leeches followed your fire. Then they followed your fever."
Eli's eyes shifted toward the glass wall.
That reached him.
Ethan slid a damp packet across the carpet. Two tablets remained inside.
Eli did not touch them.
"You take one."
"I'm not the one burning from the inside."
"You take one."
Ethan held his stare for a moment, then split a tablet with the knife, put the smaller half on his tongue, and swallowed dry.
Eli watched every movement.
Only then did he take the other tablet.
He swallowed it with nothing and made a face.
"Bad medicine," he muttered.
"Old medicine."
"That's worse."
"It's what there is."
Eli pulled his knees closer. His coat hung off one shoulder, still damp, too large for him. Without the fire in his hand, he looked smaller.
Ethan noticed that and looked away.
The wrap around Eli's wrist had burned through in two places.
"Your bandage needs changing."
"No."
"It'll stick."
"Good."
"It'll rot."
"Better than you touching me."
Ethan tore a strip from his own shirt and tossed it over.
"Do it yourself."
Eli tried.
He used his teeth, elbow, and one shaking hand. The cloth slipped twice. The third time, he pulled too hard and hissed through his teeth.
Ethan held out one empty hand.
"No knife."
Eli stared.
"No grabbing," Eli said.
"No grabbing."
"No tying."
"No tying."
"No selling."
Ethan's hand stayed open.
"No selling."
Eli waited, searching for a trick.
Then he shoved his wrist forward like he expected Ethan to bite it.
Ethan wrapped quickly. The boy's skin was too hot. The lines beneath it glowed brighter whenever Eli tensed. Ethan left the cloth loose enough to cut free and knotted it where Eli could reach.
When he was done, Eli yanked his arm back.
A coin-sized flame opened in his palm.
Ethan's knife came down at once.
Flat across the wrist.
The flame died.
Eli stared at him, furious.
"I was checking."
"No burning indoors."
"It was small."
"No burning indoors."
"You don't own fire."
"No."
"You don't own me."
"No."
"Then stop telling me what to do."
Ethan leaned closer, just enough for Eli to see the dried blood on his side and the scratches on his jaw.
"You want to stay near me, you follow rules."
"I'm not staying near you."
"You followed me across half the district."
"To steal."
"And stayed after stealing."
Eli's face flushed under the dirt.
"I can leave."
"Yes."
The answer stopped him.
Ethan sat back on his heels.
"Door's there. Window's there. If you want to go, go."
Eli looked toward the window.
Beyond the cracked glass was a narrow drop between buildings. A rusted service ladder ran down three floors, broken halfway. Dangerous, but possible for someone his size.
He did not move.
Ethan picked up the dented can and placed it near Eli's knee.
"Your can."
Eli snatched it. "Mine."
"I know."
"You keep saying I can go."
"Because you can."
"You want me gone?"
"I want fewer fires."
"That means yes."
"It means fewer fires."
Eli's jaw tightened. His hand curled around the can until his knuckles whitened.
Ethan took out his last food tin, cut it open, and divided the contents with the knife. Half went into Eli's dented can. Half stayed with Ethan.
Eli stared at the food.
"What's that for?"
"You're sick. Eat."
"What do you want?"
"For you not to burn the room."
"That's it?"
"For now."
"No debt?"
"No debt."
Eli did not believe him. Hunger did.
He ate with two fingers, fast at first, then slower when Ethan made no move to take anything back.
After a while, Eli said, "You're bad at this."
"At what?"
"Taking payment."
Ethan scraped the last cold beans from his tin.
"I'm not buying anything."
"Everyone buys something."
"Not this."
Eli watched him over the rim of the can.
"You'll sell me."
"No."
"You don't even know what they pay."
"I don't care."
"That's what people say before they care."
Ethan shut the empty tin and set it aside.
"Who sold you?"
The room changed.
Eli's fingers sparked.
Small.
Mean.
Afraid.
Ethan did not lift the knife this time, but his voice hardened.
"No burning indoors."
The spark shook in Eli's palm.
For a second, it seemed he would do it anyway.
Then the light went out.
"Don't ask me that," Eli said.
"All right."
That seemed to unsettle him more than another question would have.
A sound moved in the hall.
Both of them froze.
Something scraped beyond the office door, slow and wet, too heavy for a leech. It paused outside the glass wall. Ethan shifted silently until his back touched the door. Eli's hand rose.
Ethan looked at him.
No burning indoors.
He did not say it.
Eli's mouth tightened.
The glow under his bandage faded.
The thing outside dragged itself onward. Its weight moved down the corridor, stopped once near the stairwell, then faded into the deeper building.
Only then did Ethan breathe.
Eli looked at his own hand as if it had betrayed him by obeying.
"We leave," Ethan said.
"When?"
"Now."
"I can walk."
"I didn't ask."
"I said I can walk."
"Then prove it."
Ethan opened the door a crack. The office floor beyond was gray and soaked. Dead heat leeches lay across the carpet like black ropes, their pale sacs collapsed. The air carried a sweet rot that made Eli gag.
They moved through the office without speaking.
Ethan led. Eli followed three steps behind, clutching his coat and can. Twice he stumbled. Twice Ethan did not reach for him. The third time, on the stairwell landing, Eli caught the rail before he fell.
"I can walk," he said again, weaker.
"I heard."
On the second floor, daylight cut through broken windows. The street outside was wet and empty. A boy Eli's size could slip away through the service gap, down the side ladder, into the alleys.
Ethan saw him notice it.
He kept walking.
At the lobby doors, Ethan stopped and listened.
No scraping.
No voices.
No monster calls.
He pushed one door open with his shoulder.
Cold air entered.
Eli stood behind him, breathing too fast.
Ethan looked back.
"If you come, rules stay."
"I didn't say I'm coming."
"Then don't."
Eli glared.
"You think you're in charge because you're bigger?"
"No."
"Because you have a knife?"
"No."
"Because you saved me once?"
"No."
The boy stepped closer, anger rising again because fear had nowhere else to go.
"You think you're my dad?"
Ethan looked at him.
The question hung between them, ugly and too sharp for the ruined lobby.
Outside, rainwater ran along the curb in thin black streams.
Ethan answered flatly.
"No. I'm just the person who hasn't sold you yet."
Eli opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
For once, no flame rose in his hand.
Ethan stepped into the street.
After a long moment, small boots followed him out of the building.