The theater was a roaring furnace when Julian arrived. The roof was groaning, ready to collapse. The police were already there, but they were holding back—the structure was too unstable.

"Vane! Get back!" an officer shouted.

Julian didn't even slow down. He dove through a shattered window, the heat searing the hair on his arms. Inside, the world was orange and black. He followed the sound of a cough—a weak, rhythmic sound coming from the stage.

"Elara!"

He found her amidst a falling rain of sparks. The zip-ties were melting into her skin. With a roar of effort, Julian heaved the iron weight, snapping the old floorboards and freeing her. He scooped her into his arms, his suit jacket catching fire as he shielded her body with his own.

"You came," she breathed, her voice a ghost of a sound against his chest.

"I always come for you," he rasped.

As they stumbled out of the front doors, the theater's roof caved in with a sound like a thunderclap. Julian collapsed onto the pavement, cradling Elara as a dozen officers swarmed them, their rifles raised.

Julian didn't fight. He just held her, his forehead against hers, as the handcuffs clicked shut over his charred sleeves. He looked at the Lead Agent and smiled—a bloody, triumphant grin. "She’s safe. Do what you want with me."