Touch The Fire

4 : Held Too Tightly

" Power doesn't disappear when buried. It waits. And when it breaks free, it doesn't ask permission."

***

A low hum of conversation fills the living room as I walk in, balancing a scotch and a champagne glass in my hands. People lounge on velvet couches or cluster in little groups, pretending to enjoy each other's company. The lighting is warm and low, casting everything in gold, making fake smiles look real and real tension easier to hide.

My eyes catch on Jake, who's standing with Lucinda and my father, a fake smile stretched across his sun kissed face like it belongs there. He's clearly distracting them, covering for my delay. His hands are tucked into the pockets of his black jeans, shoulders loose, head tilted slightly toward Lucinda as she talks. From afar, he looks casual. Charming. Normal.

I know better.

"Ah, there she is!" Dad announces a little too loudly, turning a few heads in the room toward me. "So nice of you to get your mother and me some drinks."

I freeze at his words. Your mother. The phrase hits like a slap, like someone's thrown cold water across my chest. But I push through it, knowing better than to react, especially with all these eyes on me. I force a tight smile and hand them their drinks, careful not to let my hands shake.

Jake raises an eyebrow at me, gaze sharp and unreadable. I nod once, a silent thank you for whatever game he just played to buy me time. He dips his chin in return, barely noticeable, but it's enough to ground me for a beat.

I don't linger. Instead, I slip away toward Dylan and Justine, who stand behind one of the couches, half shadowed by a tall monstera plant and half ignoring everyone around them. I settle into the space beside them, grateful not to be looked at like a zoo animal.

They look like they've stepped out of a fashion magazine. Justine's in an emerald green silk dress that hugs her model tall frame, paired with black heels that somehow make her even more intimidatingly elegant. Her copper curls fall perfectly over one shoulder, not a strand out of place. Dylan stands across from her, hands in the pockets of his tailored black dress pants. His white shirt clings to him just right under a charcoal grey blazer, and it's not fair that anyone looks that good while doing absolutely nothing.

"I'm glad you two are here," I murmur as I reach them. I only met them today, but they're the only ones in this house, besides Margot and maybe Dad, I don't feel the need to run from.

"Wouldn't miss our parents reuniting after, what, eighteen, nineteen years?" Dylan furrows his brows, trying to do the math.

"To be honest," Justine says as she casually sips her clearly spiked Sprite, "I came for the free food, and to keep you from getting eaten alive by the wolves."

The wolves being the snobby and obnoxious people that currently litter our oversized house. The people of Wildecliff thrive off gossip, drama and social status, so when news of our return spread through the small town like an airborne virus, people got excited and the town became lively with the fresh dose of gossip. There are probably a dozen texts circulating the room about how my hair looks, or whether Lucinda's Botox has started to melt.

I chuckle. "Thanks." It comes out small, but I mean it.

Justine bumps her shoulder into mine. "Don't sweat the spotlight. You'll get used to it, or learn how to blind them with it."

•••

The next hour flies by. Dylan and Justine take turns walking me through the complex social minefield that is Wildecliff High. I don't necessarily need the help, I've seen this dance before in every school I've been thrown into, but it's comforting to hear the nitty gritty. For once, I'm not completely faking interest.

Justine's giving me a rundown of the school hierarchy like she's reading from a script. "The cheer squad is run by Sierra, the redhead currently flirting with Jake like it's a full time job. Don't trust her. She's petty, manipulative, and has a voice like a cat in heat. But she'll pretend to be your best friend if you're new. Avoid."

I stifle a laugh. "Got it."

My gaze drifts to the corner of the room where Tate and Sierra stand close, heads bent together, but it's clear Sierra's attention is mostly on Jake. He's leaning against the wall nearby, drink in hand, eyes scanning the room like he's already bored.

They're not making a scene, but the flask getting passed around, not so discreetly, says enough. Tate's got a lazy smirk plastered across his face, his laugh loud and loose, while Jake, unsurprisingly, looks mostly the same. Still, something about him is different. His posture is relaxed. Less... combative. It makes him look younger. Softer.

I look away.

"I have an announcement to make!" Dad's voice booms through the room, cutting straight through the chatter and dragging me back into the moment. "Clara, Margot, come on up here!"

My blood runs cold.

No, no, no. Please not this.

My stomach churns and my hands go clammy. I hate this, being on display. It was bad enough in English class this morning, and now this? I glance toward Lucinda and feel a familiar, ice cold pressure clamp down inside my chest. I know that look. That smile. That don't you dare glitter in her eyes.

I move forward, keeping my eyes low as I join them by the fireplace. Margot appears beside me a second later, looking just as uncertain.

"I'd like to thank everyone for coming tonight," Dad says, placing a hand on my shoulder, his other arm slinking around Lucinda's waist. "You've all made us feel incredibly welcome. We've lived all over the country, but nowhere ever felt like home the way Wildecliff does. So, I've made the decision to step back from work and finally settle down here. The Dumores are back, and we're here to stay."

Applause breaks out.

Dad raises his glass, along with everyone else, toasting to the future of Wildecliff. How the five founding families reuniting will bring the town into a new age. A golden age.

But I don't hear it.

My heart hammers in my chest as I stare up at him, stunned. We're staying? He promised this before. Swore this was the last move, the last box.

"How about that girls?!" Dad turns to Margot and I, as the onlookers break off into separate conversations. "I know I've said it before, but no more moving trucks, packing boxes. We'll properly settle down, and you can both make true connections."

He's looking at us with so much light. Hope. But I can only match it with a black expression, eyes narrowing, full of distrust. Calling him out on his empty promise is definitely the wrong thing to do.

But I do it anyway.

"Why should we believe you?" I ask, voice low and trembling with fury. "You say that every time. Those words mean nothing anymore. I bet we'll be out of this town in less than two months."

A few people turn their heads. Eager ears. Gossips dressed in expensive suits and well practiced grins. I see Jake's eyes flicker in my direction, but I don't check his expression. I'm too far gone.

I'm just about to launch into the full storm when a pair of arms wraps around me.

It's not comfort. It's a cage.

Lucinda.

The overwhelming smell of her perfume makes my head spin, thick and cloying like rotting flowers. Her stiff red hair brushes my cheek as she pulls back and gives me a soft, poisonous smile.

"Oh, darling!" she says in that glassy sweet tone. "You must be so tired. Believe me when I say this is the last move."

She kneels down slightly so we're eye level. Her gaze drills into mine, hollow and gleaming like polished wood. I feel myself shrinking beneath it.

"I think you should go sit somewhere quiet, hmm? Come back when you've had a moment to collect yourself." Her hands tighten around my arms, just enough to bruise. Just enough to send a message: Get out before you make this worse.

I glance at Dad. He won't meet my eyes, but he nods once, cold, sharp. Message received.

"I'm so drained," I lie through a smile. "You know me so well. I'll be back shortly."

Lucinda's eyes flicker with satisfaction. She releases me like I'm something gross she picked off the floor.

I keep my head down and slip away through the hallway, fast. The farther I get, the harder it is to hold back the heat bubbling under my skin. This house feels like a labyrinth, gilded, echoing, full of secrets and glass. It's too big. Too fake.

I reach the end of the corridor and push open two enormous doors. Once I'm through, I flick my hand back and the doors slam.

The room I've wandered into is dark, lit only by moonlight pouring through an arched window. I pace, chest tight, fists clenched.

"I should be happy about this?" I mutter. "He could've told me. He knows I hate surprises."

My steps grow heavier. Faster. I can feel the energy sparking beneath my skin, demanding release. This isn't about moving. Not really. It's about being left out. About being part of a crowd, not a daughter. About being told I'm home without ever being asked what home means to me.

If he thinks holding information back from me, surprising me in front of a room full of strangers, is the best way to communicate family matters, he's mistakenly wrong. After seventeen years, does he really not know me?

The pressure inside me twists and coils like a live thing, hot and sharp. It's like a storm I've tried to cage for years, thrumming just beneath my skin. But tonight, it's breaking free. The words Dad said "we're here to stay" they feel like a lie carved into my chest.

I pace faster, fists clenched so tight my nails dig into my palms. My breath catches, ragged and shallow. The fire inside me surges, flickering first in my fingertips, then burning up my arms like wildfire racing through dry bush. I want to scream, but the sound that escapes is raw, a guttural cry that tears through the silence.

The moonlight catches the edges of the furniture. It trembles. The chair nearest me shudders, legs scraping against the floor as it lifts a few inches, hovering like a startled bird. My skin prickles, buzzing with energy so fierce it's almost painful.

My feet leave the floor before I even realize it. I'm weightless, spinning slowly in the dark room. The heat crawling through my veins is relentless, wrapping around my spine, crawling up my throat, pooling behind my eyes. My chest tightens until it feels like claws are raking my ribs from the inside out.

I can hear the c***k of glass before I see it, the huge arched window splinters, like a lightning bolt going down the middle. My scream rips through the room again, a sharp burst of energy that sends books flying off the shelves.

The walls seem to pulse with my anger. A lamp crashes to the floor, smashing into pieces. Papers swirl around me like leaves caught in a storm, twisting and dancing in the invisible currents my power has made.

My hands shake, trembling from the raw force coursing through me, but I don't have control. It's not just telekinesis anymore, this is something more primal. It's pure emotion, raw and furious and desperate. The fire inside me isn't just burning, it's devouring, consuming every part of me until I'm nothing but heat and fury.

I want to break something, everything. To tear apart the lies and the secrets that have trapped me for so long. But beneath the destruction, there's a flicker of fear, a tiny voice whispering that if I lose control, I could destroy more than just this room. I could lose myself.

My vision blurs, tears mixing with sweat on my cheeks as I fight the chaos inside. Then, the door creaks.

The warm yellow light spills across the wreckage, and I drop like a stone, hitting the floor hard, breathless. The room is silent except for my ragged breathing, and the gasp from the silhouette standing at the door.