The Card’s Shadow

The flames surrounded me, consuming everything in their path. Smoke coiled around the beams, thick and suffocating, seeping into my lungs with every shallow gasp. My chest burned, both from the heat and the weight pressing down on me, though I wasn't sure if it was the smoke or my own panic. My legs moved on instinct, dragging me forward through the inferno as the world blurred into ash and fire.

I stumbled toward the staircase ahead, my eyes darting wildly for any sign of safety, though I knew there was none.The charred wood groaned beneath me, every step threatening to give way, and for a moment, I thought I could hear voices beneath the roar of the fire. A child's cry, distant and fragile, slipping through the chaos.

"Just keep going," I muttered, forcing the words out between shallow, painful breaths. My voice felt small, lost in the roaring destruction. Each step sent shocks of pain up my legs as the burning floorboards blistered my feet.

Still, I pushed forward, focusing on the staircase ahead.

At the bottom of the stairs was a door, the metal handle glowing faintly red from the heat. My hand hovered over it, trembling. I didn't want to touch it, but what choice did I have? Gritting my teeth, I gripped the handle and twisted, a sharp hiss escaping my lips as the searing pain shot through my hand.

The door creaked open, and the sight beyond hit me harder than the flames ever could.

Small bodies lay scattered across the floor, twisted and broken. The room was unnaturally still, the crackling fire around me somehow quieter as I stepped inside. My stomach twisted, my legs growing weak beneath me.

"No," I whispered, the word catching in my throat. My gaze darted from one lifeless figure to the next. "No, no, no..."

I couldn't count them. I couldn't bear to.

Their faces were burned, their features barely recognizable, but the terror etched into them was unmistakable.

Small hands reached out, frozen in their final moments, as if pleading for help that never came.

The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, thick and nauseating. I gagged, my chest heaving as I fought back the bile rising in my throat. My knees buckled, and I collapsed to the floor.

For a moment, I couldn't move.

Couldn't think. My hand stretched out, trembling, toward the nearest child.

Their body was still warm, the heat radiating from their scorched skin stinging my fingertips. I didn't know why I reached for them. Maybe l thought I could help. Maybe I thought l owed them that much.

But as my fingers hovered over their outstretched hand, the world around me shifted.

I woke with a sharp intake of breath, my lungs desperate for air that wasn't there. The sterile light above me burned my eyes as I blinked away the lingering smoke from the nightmare. My chest still felt tight, as if the flames had followed me here, and for a moment, I couldn't move.

The cold bite of metal against my wrists brought me back.

Handcuffs.

Ilooked down at the steel binding my hands, my breath hitching. My mind was a tangled mess, fragments of the fire flashing behind my eyes. The screaming. The heat. The door. The bodies.

"What the hell...?" | muttered, my voice hoarse and broken. The fire had felt so real, but now it was gone. Now I am here, wherever here was.

I lifted my head, taking in the sterile room around me. A single metal table sat in front of me, bolted to the floor like it belonged here more than I did. The walls were bare, their white paint cracked and peeling. The fluorescent light above buzzed faintly, a grating sound that made my teeth ache.

I don't remember how I got here.

Before I could make sense of anything, the door creaked open.

A man stepped inside, his footsteps slow and deliberate. He was tall, his uniform neat and pressed, though there was nothing polished about the sharp glare he leveled at me. His eyes narrowed, cold and unforgiving, as he approached the table.

"Andrew Lucia," he said, his voice flat but brimming with disdain. "The miracle survivor himself."

I didn't say anything. His gaze swept over me, calculating, cold. He crossed the room, each step measured, before pulling out the chair across from me. He sat down heavily, slapping a thick folder onto the table.

"I'm Officer Fayroad," he began, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "Let's get one thing straight right now. I don't believe a damn word you're going to say."

The words hit hard, sharp, leaving no room for argument-not that l had one to give. My throat felt dry, my mind too tangled to form a coherent thought.

"You were found at the scene of a fire," Fayroad continued, flipping open the folder. "A bad one. Do you want to guess how many people died?"

The question hung in the air like a blade. I shook my head, the motion slow and stiff. "I don't know what you're talking about," | said, my voice barely above a whisper.

He stared at me for a moment, his gaze unflinching. "You don't?" The words came out clipped, sharp. "You were found in the middle of the ashes of an orphanage, surrounded by the bodies of eighty-seven children and four adults. And you walked out without a single scratch."

My stomach twisted. The number repeated in my head like a drumbeat.

Eighty-seven. I couldn't form words, couldn't make sense of what he was saying.

"I..." My voice cracked. "I don't..."

"Save it," he snapped, slamming the folder shut. "We have witnesses who saw you go into that building. We have the wreckage of what used to be a home for dozens of kids. The only thing we don't have is an explanation for why you're the only one who survived."

"I don't remember," I said quickly, the words spilling out in desperation. "I swear, I don't remember anything like that. I don't even—"

"What do you remember, then?" Fayroad cut in, his voice rising. He leaned closer, the harsh light casting deep shadows across his face.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. My mind was blank, fragments of fire and screams flashing behind my eyes, but nothing that explained why I was here, in this room, with him.

Fayroad's chair scraped against the floor as he stood. He gathered the folder under one arm, his other hand resting on his hip as he looked down at me. "I don't care what you think you remember," he said, his tone low and cold. "Eighty-seven kids are dead, Andrew. People are going to want answers. They're going to want justice.

And they're going to want someone to blame."

I swallowed hard, my chest tight. "I didn't do it," I said, the words barely audible.

He paused, watching me for a moment, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter what you say. The Council will decide your fate, but until then, you're staying locked up where you can't hurt anyone else."

Without another word, he turned and walked out, leaving me alone in the silence.

When Fayroad finally left, two guards entered the room. Their expressions were blank, their movements robotic as they unlatched my cuffs from the table and tugged me to my feet.

They didn't speak as they led me into the hallway, their boots echoing sharply against the concrete floor.

The cells lining the walls weren't empty.

I could feel eyes on me, even before I caught the low murmur of voices. The words were garbled, distorted, like they weren't meant for human ears.

I tried not to look, but curiosity got the better of me.

One figure pressed itself against the bars, its skeletal body almost too thin to support its weight. Its skin glistened like oil, its glowing blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my stomach churn.

"New meat," it hissed, its voice like nails on glass.

I flinched, quickening my pace, though the guards didn't react.

Another prisoner stood in their cell, their figure almost human at first glance. But the shadows clung to them unnaturally, their smile stretching too wide across their face. They tilted their head as I passed, their gaze boring into me like they could see something I couldn't.

The silence in the hallway was suffocating, broken only by the faint rustle of movement from the cells. It felt like the walls themselves were closing in, pressing against my chest until I could barely breathe.

Finally, the guards stopped in front of a thick metal door. One swiped a keycard, and the door groaned open, revealing a small, sterile room. A simple cot sat in one corner, a metal toilet bolted to the floor in the other.

They shoved me inside without a word, the chains clinking as they unlatched them from my cuffs. The door slammed shut behind me, and I was alone.

I turned to the small mirror mounted on the wall, catching sight of my reflection.

My face was pale, my eyes hollow, ringed with exhaustion. My lips were cracked, my hair a mess.

I reached up, my hand trembling, and touched my face. The cold glass beneath my fingers sent a shiver down my spine.

"What the hell happened?" I whispered.

The mirror didn't answer.