The Fire That Didn’t Burn

Sunlight slanted through the hospital blinds, casting long golden stripes across the sterile floor. The room was unnaturally still—no beeping monitors, no distant footsteps. Just the soft rustle of paper as Adeline turned another page in the folder resting on her lap.

Elias stood by the window, arms folded tightly, his body rigid with tension. He hadn't spoken much in the last hour—not that words were needed. His presence was a quiet familiarity, like a shadow that refused to leave.

Adeline broke the silence, her voice low and steady. "You didn't know I was there."

It wasn't an accusation, just a thought given form.

Elias didn't turn to face her, but his jaw clenched. "No," he answered after a long pause.

She closed the folder and set it beside her. "You came for Seraphina."

"Yeah."

Another pause hung between them. She studied the way the light caught the seams of his collar and the taut line of his shoulders.

"She screamed for you," Adeline said quietly. "I remember that."

His fists clenched at his sides. "She would."

Adeline wrapped her arms around herself, not to defend but to still trembling fingers. "I wasn't meant to be there. Not this time."

Silence settled like dust.

"You defended her," Elias finally said.

A faint, ironic smile tugged at Adeline's lips. "Felt like old times."

That made him look at her—something flickered in his eyes. Regret? Or something darker.

"I remember the cell," she said, voice softer now. "How cold it was. How you gave me your jacket when they took the others."

"You were freezing," Elias whispered. "And bleeding."

Adeline looked down at her hands. "And you still didn't touch me."

"I couldn't," he murmured, almost to himself.

She met his eyes. "But you did this time."

He neither confirmed nor looked away.

"I remember the fire, Elias," she said, voice easing. "I remember covering Seraphina and waiting for someone—anyone. But it was you. I saw your face through the smoke. And I believed maybe—maybe you'd seen me."

At last, Elias lowered himself into the chair by her bed, fingers weaving together.

"I heard one scream," he said softly. "And I went after it."

Adeline's breath caught.

"I didn't think to look beyond that," he continued. "And when I saw—you were already on fire."

They sat in silence, the stillness too full to be called comfortable.

"I don't blame you," she said quietly. The words felt strange, even to her.

His gaze found hers, intense and raw.

"I do," he whispered.

Neither spoke for a moment. Then Adeline leaned forward, fingertips brushing the edge of his coat sleeve—almost a touch. Just enough to acknowledge the shift between them.

And maybe, for now, that was enough.