I open my mouth to say something—anything—but the sound around us suddenly shifts. It’s subtle at first, like a low rumble buried beneath the music. Then, the ground stutters under my feet—just enough to make my heart miss a beat.

The explosion hits before my brain catches up. It’s not just noise—it’s a blast that rips through the air, knocks into my chest like a fist, and keeps going. The tent trembles. Metal groans. Something collapses behind me with a crash that makes my ears ring.

And then come the screams.

Not the kind that floats through a summer festival, all cotton candy and carnival rides. These are guttural. Raw. People calling out names, crying out for someone to answer.

I bolt toward the tent’s entrance, my heart hammering. My breath is already shallow, as if I’ve sprinted a mile and haven’t even moved more than a few feet.

I spin toward The Honey Drop just in time to see it—smoke billowing up from behind the building, thick and rolling as if it has somewhere to be. Heat blasts through the street like someone opened an oven door straight into my face. My lungs seize as the smell hits: charred wood, burnt syrup, and something chemical that stings all the way up my nose.

Delilah is frozen right next to me. We were just talking. One minute ago, she was trying to figure out why I left town, and now . . . Now, she’s staring at her coffee shop like the world’s playing a cruel joke.

“My coffee shop,” she whispers, voice too thin to hold itself up. Then louder. “My coffee shop—oh my God.”

And then she’s running.

“Del,” I sprint after her, grabbing for her arm, but she jerks away. She’s not even looking at me.

My shoes slap against the pavement, each step jarring. It feels as though the sidewalk’s bouncing beneath me. Like the ground itself doesn’t know how to stay still.

I round the corner—and everything changes.

This isn’t someone’s backyard firepit gone rogue.

This is destruction—hot and greedy.

The Honey Drop’s windows glow orange, and flames leap out, curling around the wood trim trying to consume it whole. Someone’s yelling for water. Another person shoves a fire extinguisher into a stranger’s hands and immediately pulls them back—too dangerous, too late.

Del’s in front of the building, screaming. I can’t hear the words with all the noise around us, but her lips are moving fast, eyes wild. She keeps trying to run forward, toward the entrance.

People are shouting. Trying to hold her back.

And before I can grab her⁠—

“Stop her,” Cassian’s voice barrels through the chaos, cutting across the noise like a blade. He’s already moving, shoving through the crowd, sweat streaking down his temples. “Delilah Mora—no. You can’t go in there.”