The Spark of Truth

"Mia Thorne," Cole murmured as she slid into the leather booth across from him. His voice was smooth, carrying a deep resonance that vibrated directly against her sternum. "I wondered when the heat would finally drive you down here."

Mia swallowed hard, her throat parched. "You know who I am."

"I know the scent of a tragedy nearing its boiling point," he replied, leaning forward. The ambient temperature around the table spiked. The scent of cedar and smoke grew intoxicating. "You look exhausted, little bird. You’re carrying a heavy cinder in your chest. David, wasn't it?"

Tears pricked Mia’s eyes at the sound of the name. "They say you can take it away. The memory. The pain."

"I can," Cole said softly. His amber eyes traced the slope of her neck, lingering on the spot where she felt the phantom burns most intensely. "I specialize in extraction. I consume the rot, and I leave you perfectly, blissfully empty. But it requires surrender."

"I'll give you whatever you want. Money, anything."

Cole laughed, a dry, crackling sound. "I have no use for paper. My currency is the experience. The taste of your grief. I just need to find the root of it."

He reached across the table. Mia flinched, but she didn't pull away. Cole’s knuckles brushed against her jawline.

The moment his skin made contact, a violent shockwave tore through Mia’s nervous system. He wasn't just warm; he was impossibly, dangerously hot. But it wasn't the heat that paralyzed her—it was the sudden, brutal unlocking of her own mind.

The mental barricades shattered. The missing minutes of the fire flooded back in an agonizing rush of clarity.

* She was in the apartment. The flames were everywhere. David was screaming. But the fire hadn't started from a faulty wire. Mia saw the silhouette standing in the center of their living room. A man in a dark suit, his hands wreathed in unnatural fire, feeding on the destruction, inhaling David’s terror like fine wine. Cole.*

Mia gasped, violently jerking her face away from his hand. She scrambled backward, hitting the back of the leather booth.

"It was you," she whispered, her voice trembling with absolute horror. "You were there. You started the fire."