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Johnny woke to heat.
At first, it was only light—a faint orange pulse that lived behind his eyelids. But when he opened his eyes, the air was red, the ceiling alive with grotesque, dancing flames. Heat shivered across the walls, warping metal and cracking glass. The air throbbed in his lungs. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if he was still dreaming.
He sat up too fast. The blanket had turned to ash on his body. He staggered out of bed; the floor glowed where his feet touched it. He was still half in that other place—the spaceship, fire in his spacesuit, smoke blinding his visor. He was trapped. He was burning, suffocating.
He stumbled and knocked over the table. Glass shattered. The flames jumped higher. He could hear the alarms shrieking somewhere far away, muffled by the roar in his ears. The smell—burning plastic, ozone, sweat—sent him reeling.
“Johnny!” Reed’s voice came from outside the door, panicked. “Stay where you are! I’ll vent the room!”
Johnny couldn’t answer. Every word caught fire before it left his throat. The walls were rippling, the light too bright. He stumbled backward and fell against the bedframe. The mattress hissed, smoldered, collapsed in on itself.
“Johnny, stay calm—”
But another voice cut through him. A softer voice.
“Johnny.”
That sound alone was enough to halt him. He looked up. The door had opened.
Sue stood there, barefoot, her silhouette haloed by flame. The air bent around her—light distorting, heat pulling back as if meeting an invisible hand.
“Don’t come in!” he gasped. “I’ll burn you—”
She shook her head and took a step closer. The flames danced along her outline, flickered, and drew back—as if they knew her. “You won’t.” Her voice was steady, low, the same tone she used when he was small and crying in the dark. “Don’t be scared. I’ve done this before.”
The words hit him like cold air.
He was back in another room—smaller, darker, the wallpaper peeling. The air smelled of smoke and gasoline. He was seven, maybe eight, and his sister was beside his bed, shaking him awake.
“Johnny,” she whispered. “You’re dreaming again.”
He’d been screaming, he remembered that now. He could still hear the sirens from the street below, even though it had been days—weeks—since that crash. His hand smelled like his mother’s perfume, the one she had put on before they left. He couldn’t wash it off. He was back in the dream. His mother’s car—rolling, catching fire. He could still see the windshield fracturing and breaking off into a thousand pieces. He could still taste that sharp and sulfuric smell of gas.
“Hey,” Sue’s whisper had cut through his memory. “You’re okay.”
He’d clung to Sue’s sleeve. “I saw her,” he’d choked. “Mom—mom didn’t—”
“I know.”
He’d cried harder then. She didn’t stop him. She just pulled him close and held him, whispering the same words over and over. She kept her arm around him, even as she was shaking herself.
“Don’t be scared, Johnny. I’m here.” She smoothed his hair back. “And I’m not leaving you.”
He hadn’t understood then. He only knew that her voice made the fire fade.
Now, the room burned for real.
Sue was already crossing the room. Reed shouted for her to stop but she ignored him. The hem of her nightshirt lifted in the updraft, but she didn’t flinch. The flames bent around her like water around a rock, leaving her untouched.
Johnny’s hands trembled. “Sue, I can’t stop it,” he said, his voice breaking. “It’s—it’s everywhere—”
“Then don’t stop it. Just breathe with me.”
She came close enough that he could see flames dancing in her eyes. The air shimmered around her—a thin invisible film keeping the flames out. She knelt in front of him, palms open, and waited.
“Breathe with me,” she said. “In. Out.”
He tried, because he would always try when his sister asked. The air scalded his lungs, still he tried to breathe. His eyes frantically searched her face, until they found her eyes—a blue so like his but so much braver. His heartbeats slowed. The roaring in his ears eased. The air began to cool. The scorching orange faded into a warm gold.
He dropped to his knees, shaking. His throat hurt. His vision swam. His vision was blurry with tears.
Sue knelt too, reaching out slowly until her hand rested against his shoulder. The contact made him gasp—expecting heat, feeling only warmth. A force field hummed faintly between them, invisible and thin.
“It’s okay,” she murmured. “You’re here. You’re not back there. It’s over.”
He closed his eyes. “I can’t control it. I keep seeing her. I keep seeing the ship. The fire—”
“I know.” Her voice wavered. “I know.”
She pulled him closer until his forehead rested against her collarbone. He could smell her hair—shampoo and smoke. He clung to that smell, something clean in the ash.
The flames guttered. When the door opened again, Reed stood there, face white in the half-dark, but Sue only looked up long enough to shake her head. Not now.
Johnny’s breathing steadied. He whispered, “What if it happens again?”
“Then it happens again,” she said. “And I’ll be here.”
He wanted to tell her she shouldn’t have to be, but the words didn’t come. His body felt heavy, the air finally cool.
She stayed where she was, one arm around his shoulders, until the smoke cleared. The light on the wall faded from orange to the soft gold of morning. It looked, for a second, like hope.