Chapter 3

I walked down the storm-lashed street under a black umbrella.

The wind whipped the standing water off the pavement and hurled it against my pant legs.

Just then my phone buzzed. It was Director Finch, the HR director at my new company.

"Oliver, we've checked over all your onboarding details on our end. Everything's in order."

"How's the handover going with your old employer?"

I flipped through the emergency medical certificate in my hand, my tone easy. "All smooth, Director Finch."

"I've already cut off every core access permission I held."

Finch laughed warmly. "Good. A senior manager like you is exactly what our team needs."

I hung up. I'd barely stepped out the hospital doors when my phone buzzed again.

It was a message from Luther. A photo of the office floor slick with muddy water.

Under it, a whiny voice-to-text line.

"Oliver, that electric hand warmer is such a downgrade, and it doesn't warm my hands at all."

"Can I really not just borrow your kerosene lighter for a bit? I'll only light a cigarette at my desk, I swear I won't wander off."

I stared at the message, and a wave of pure irritation rose in me.

What was his obsession with my lighter, anyway?

Or had he already planned to start a fire today, and just needed an excuse to pin the blame on someone else?

I typed back a reply.

"Administrative records show you already picked up an electric hand warmer today."

"Please use it in strict accordance with company safety regulations."

"If you refuse to use it for personal reasons and any accident results, the responsibility is your own."

Five minutes later, Luther posted an update on his social media feed.

In the photo, he was still clutching that damp, cheap lighter.

The caption read: "Some senior colleagues have hearts colder than the rain on a hurricane day. Do new hires just deserve to freeze?"

Mason liked it almost at once.

Then two coworkers, the type who always played peacemaker, sent me DMs.

"Oliver, you were way too worked up today."

"Lending him a lighter wouldn't cost you a thing."

"We all have to see each other every day. Don't let things get this tense."

I looked at these self-satisfied little lectures, and the corner of my mouth curled.

I switched back to the company group chat, fingers flying across the screen, and sent one last message.

"Attention, everyone."

"There's serious flooding in the corridor and at the warehouse entrance. The floor is extremely slippery, and no open flames are allowed anywhere near the warehouse."

"Don't count on luck. Safety first."

Once it was sent, I put the group chat on Do Not Disturb.

Then I dropped the phone into my bag and caught a cab home.

Back home, I took a hot shower and changed into dry, comfortable loungewear.

The rain outside pounded against the glass, sharp and steady.

The wind howled, tearing at the treetops along the road.

I brewed a steaming cup of black tea and settled back into the soft couch.

Watching the second hand on the wall tick across, one notch at a time.

The time crept toward five thirty in the afternoon.

In my last life, this was the exact moment Luther rushed to the warehouse entrance to light a cigarette, ignited the leaked dust, and caused the flash-fire explosion.

I lifted my cup and took a sip of the warm black tea.

This time, I wanted to see just how he planned to keep this act going.