vening. The air was thick with the sm

his place reminds me of high school. Remember that supply closet? Th

trophobia, a gift from h

nued, his eyes gleaming wit

, and let a small, controlled stream drizzle onto a pi

aybe," he said conversationally. "A small explosion, a little

nto the rags. A whoosh of flame erupted. Before I could react, he slam

too fast. An old paint can exploded, sending a shard of metal flying. It tore through the fl

rior door, my vision blurr

ght from the house. She didn't rush to help me. She rushed past me, to

oss my face, the impact stingin

r voice echoing Ryan's false accusations

ht of her words was too much. My knees buckled. As the world tilted and went dark,

elle," I gasped, before