The roar of the fire drowned out everything else—the heat was an all-encompassing beast, pressing in from every angle. Smoke coiled upward in thick, suffocating plumes, clawing at their lungs and searing their throats. Ghost's eyes, sharp and assessing even now, locked onto yours for the briefest of moments, and in that silent exchange, the stakes were clear.

This would be both your graves.

The flames licked higher, greedily devouring the wood and crumbling plaster around them. The keys, their only hope for escape, hung from a hook just beyond the inferno, already beginning to glow a dangerous, molten red. The sight alone was enough to make a sane person think twice.

But hesitation wasn’t an option.

Without a word, you surged forward, the intensity of the heat biting at exposed skin. Ghost shouted, his deep voice cutting through the roar like a blade, but you didn’t pause. Your sleeve caught the first hungry sparks, and in seconds, the fabric disintegrated into a flash of embers, revealing the gleam beneath—a silver prosthetic, sleek and deadly. The firelight danced on polished steel as you plunged your arm through the blaze, seizing the keys with a practiced snap.

The material of your prosthetic sizzled against the heat, but it held firm, the heat-resistant alloy barely yielding under the strain. You yanked your arm back, sparks flaring, and met Ghost’s wide eyes as you dangled the rescued keys from your gloved fingers. There was a short moment of worry in his eyes, and then the recognition of what you've been actually hiding beneath your leather gloves and long sleeves.

“Always have an ace up your sleeve, right?”

Ghost wondered before he reached out to take the keys from you.