GOLDEN AGE | ON HIATUS

XI | WILDFIRE

[ 11 ]

STARING AT THE fireproof gloves on his hands, Wildfire released a huff, kicking his bound legs onto the interrogation table. The Crux Agent questioning him rolled his eyes, running a hand along his unshaven jaw before sinking back into his seat.

"You know what-" Wildfire leaned forward, reading the name on the Agent's badge. "-Gerald, I can't believe you. You take my power, my dignity, the very ambrosia running through my veins, and chain me to this chair like a common criminal. Is this how you treat all of your superheroes? Huh?"

Had his hands not been immobilised, he would've poked the man in the chest for dramatic appeal, but given that they, in fact, were, he settled for a shove of the table. Because it was bolted to ground, it did not, in fact, move - but the tension was there.

Gerald sighed, crow-foot wrinkles in the crinkled corners of his eyes as he shut them. Maybe he thought that blindness would help, but it didn't, not when a stubborn teenage boy was still sat in front of him, all the same. The light made everything look as if it were cloaked in a fine layer of flame, the lamp pointed in Wildfire's face as if the Crux interrogation room were a crappy police drama, completed with two dumb cops - Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee, he'd christened them, sitting on seats drinking white mocha frappes.

Not particularly the most intimidating setup, but it could've been worse. He shuddered at the thought of a newbie interrogating him, with all of their academy swagger and nothing else. Sasha's voice rang out in his head, the ripple of waves on sand, and he suppressed a smile.

"Because you don't have any swagger, do you?" she asked drily. The image of her eyes, the shimmer of sunlight on the sea, looking up at him through dark lashes, the flames from his hands illuminating her face, sent a pang of nostalgia through his blazing heart. How...sweet it had been back then, a year or so ago, before real worries formed problems. To live in solitude, act like Semper's anarchy wasn't happening on their very doorstep.

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?" Gerald asked, fury flooding his already heavy features - nose, chin, brows.

Wildfire kissed his teeth, feet smashing against the floor with a crash that made him restrain a wince. "No, not exactly. Why? Did you say anything important?"

Letting out a roar of aggravation, Gerald pounded his fist on the table, causing a stack of papers to fall to the floor with an echoing thump. The other cop - Crux agent, rather - dove to pick it up before Wildfire could catch a glimpse, but his eyes stuck on a stray sheet before the man could tidy it away. All he had time to read was the very first sentence, a photo of himself at his most recent UN meeting looking back at him with fire in his eyes.