Ruby

The fire was always the last thing to fade.

It still clung to my skin, flickering in the lines of my hands, smoldering in the marrow of my bones. Even as the fight was over, even as I walked through the uneven streets of the Ashlands, I could feel it. That same heat curling beneath my ribs, a restless thing that never truly went out.

I pulled my hood up, keeping my head low as I moved through the crowd. The Ashlands never slept—not in the same way Solvurn did. The city pulsed with life, but it was a different kind. Rough. Unapologetic. People gathered in clusters outside clubs and bars. Some were smoking, some arguing, some just existing in the space between violence and survival. 

No one looked at me twice.

Good.

I adjusted my gloves, hiding the last embers at my fingertips. I'd wasted too much energy already. The fight should've been easy, but my hands were still shaking. Not from exhaustion, but from something deeper.

I didn't want to think about it.

The walk back to the hideout was muscle memory by now. Down an alleyway tagged in layers of graffiti, past a rusted-out car frame that had been there longer than I had, up a fire escape that groaned under my weight. The hideout was an old, abandoned space above what used to be a tattoo shop. The windows were boarded up, the walls cracked and covered in old flyers from concerts that probably never happened.

A place for people with nowhere else to go.

I shoved open the door, the hinges creaking. And just like I expected—

"You look like shit."

My cousin Andre didn't even look up from where he sat, legs kicked up on the coffee table, a cigarette dangling from his fingers. His locs were pulled back on his head in a messy bun, the low glow from the neon sign outside made the silver rings in his ears catch the light. His dark eyes flickered toward me, scanning.

"Thanks," I muttered, shrugging off my jacket.

The place smelled like smoke and old leather. The couch was barely standing, patched up with duct tape, and there were stacks of books and notes everywhere—Andre's, not mine. He was always scribbling something down, piecing together theories about the Veilshift like he could solve it with enough research.

I collapsed onto the couch, letting my head fall back. I didn't want to talk. But Andre had a way of pulling words out of me, even when I didn't want them.

"You took longer than usual," he said, exhaling smoke. "Something happen?"

I hesitated.

The Hollow's face flashed in my mind. Not fully lost, not yet. It had looked at me, through me, as if something in it recognized something in me.

I swallowed, shaking my head. "Nothing important."

Andre hummed like he didn't believe me.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression shifting into something sharper. "It's getting worse, isn't it?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

"The distortions aren't just random anymore," he continued. "More people disappearing. More manifestations. It's only a matter of time before—"

"Before what?" I cut in, my voice harsher than I meant.

Andre held my gaze, unflinching. "Before there's nothing left to burn."

The words settled between us, heavy.

I looked away, watching the cracked ceiling, the way the paint peeled like something old and dying. The fight earlier had been nothing compared to what was coming.

"I don't care about the bigger picture," I muttered.

Andre laughed, dry and knowing. "Right. That's why you're out there every night, throwing yourself into fights that aren't yours."

I clenched my fists.

"You're not trying to fix the problem with the veil, Ruby. You're trying to fix yourself."

Silence.

He wasn't wrong.

But I didn't want to hear it.

I turned away, my gaze catching on the distant glow of the city beyond the boarded-up window. The Ashlands kept moving. Kept breathing.

I wished I could let things go. I wished I knew how to feel in moderation.

I didn't answer him. Instead, I closed my eyes, listening to the distant hum of music from the streets below.

Another night. Another fight.

And the fire inside me refused to die.