Kirran wished he had never looked through the window.
Every second he remained there seemed to make things worse.
The Wheelers were criminals.
Or at least they were working with criminals.
Neither possibility was comforting.
Inside the warehouse, the transaction continued as if nothing unusual was happening.
Belizaire stood calmly beside the weapons crates.
Renée continued presenting inventory.
Zyla inspected the equipment.
Jarrick seemed entirely too happy to be there.
The whole thing felt wrong.
Painfully wrong.
Mach remained silent.
For once, neither of them knew what to say.
Near the back of the warehouse, two younger gunmen stood watch.
Both carried military-grade rifles.
Both looked bored.
One glanced toward Jarrick.
Then toward Zyla.
Then back again.
He smirked.
“<Since when did Belizaire start making deals with cripples?>” The second guard shrugged.
“<No idea.>” Kirran didn’t understand French.
Neither did Mach.
But somebody inside the warehouse did.
Jarrick stopped moving.
Completely.
The smile disappeared.
The joking attitude vanished.
Something dangerous entered his eyes.
Something cold.
Very cold.
Blaze appeared beside him.
The Vent’s expression darkened.
“Oh.” The digital flames surrounding Blaze flickered violently.
“I heard that.” Everyone noticed the change.
Even Belizaire.
Even Renée.
Even Zyla.
The atmosphere shifted.
As if the room itself understood something terrible was about to happen.
Jarrick slowly turned.
His eyes locked onto the two guards.
Neither realized their mistake.
Not yet.
“Blaze.” The Vent’s voice crackled.
“Yeah?” “What did I just hear?” Blaze didn’t hesitate.
Blaze didn’t hesitate.
“The C-word.” Jarrick nodded.
“Thought so.” Kirran felt a chill run down his spine.
The expression on Jarrick’s face wasn’t anger.
It was worse.
Much worse.
It was certainty.
The certainty of someone who had already made a decision.
“Jarrick.” The warning came instantly.
Too late.
Way too late.
Flames erupted from Jarrick’s chair.
The warehouse exploded with orange light.
FFWWISSHHH!
The fire crossed the room in a heartbeat.
The two guards barely had time to react.
Screams filled the warehouse.
Then silence.
Complete silence.
Smoke drifted upward.
The guards collapsed.
Motionless.
Gone.
Kirran couldn’t breathe.
His heart hammered against his chest.
No.
No.
No.
This wasn’t happening.
Heroes didn’t do that.
Heroes weren’t supposed to do that.
Zyla’s eyes widened.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Even Belizaire looked stunned.
Renée stared at the floor.
Unable to look away.
Unable to look directly at it either.
Zyla closed her eyes.
As if this wasn’t the first time.
As if she’d seen this before.
Many times before.
Finally, Renée found her voice.
“Why?” Jarrick looked genuinely confused.
“Why what?” “Why did you do that?” The question echoed through the warehouse.
Jarrick shrugged.
As though the answer was obvious.
“Anyone who calls me or my sister the C-word…” He pointed toward the smoke.
“…becomes French toast.” Blaze laughed.
Nobody else did.
Kirran felt sick.
The heroes he’d admired.
The people he’d watched on television.
The people who saved apartment buildings.
The people who smiled for cameras.
They weren’t heroes.
Not really.
They were something else.
Something far more dangerous.
Something he didn’t understand.
And for the first time since meeting them— Kirran was afraid of the Wheelers.