The world didn’t end in fire. It ended in silence.

Dante Voss had always thought, if it came to it, his world would be consumed in a blaze—an inferno so hot it would sear itself into memory, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. But the night everything was taken from him, there were no flames. Just the cold, merciless hush of death.

He could still hear the muted sounds of their breathing, his mother humming softly as she stirred a pot on the stove, the creak of his father’s chair as he leaned back, exhausted from another long shift. His younger brother, Elias, sat cross-legged on the floor, flipping through the pages of a comic book, eyes wide with wonder.

They had been alive. They had been happy.

And then, in the space of a single breath, they were gone.

The heroes came in like a storm—golden, righteous, untouchable. They weren’t supposed to be the villains. They weren’t supposed to be the ones who tore a family apart. But they had been hunting a man that night, a villain whose name Dante didn’t even know, and they had chased him into the wrong neighborhood. Into the wrong home.

Collateral damage. That’s what the news called it. Tragic. Unavoidable. Regrettable.

But Dante didn’t remember it as a tragedy. He remembered it as murder.

They had set the building ablaze, reducing everything inside to blackened remains. He had woken up to smoke clogging his throat, fire licking at his skin, his mother’s hand already limp in his own. He had tried to move, tried to reach for Elias, for his father, but all he found was ruin.

And then the heat had come, not from the fire consuming his home, but from inside him.

Something raw and primal had ignited in his bones, twisting through his veins, pulling him apart and reforging him into something else. The pain was unbearable. It should have killed him.

But instead, he became it.

When he emerged from the wreckage, his skin had been untouched by the fire, his body wreathed in smoke. His hands burned, flames crackling between his fingers, but he felt no pain. Only rage.

That was the night Dante Voss died. That was the night Phantom Flame was born.

Years later, he still felt the embers of that night smoldering in his chest. The world had moved on, the heroes had continued their crusades, and no one spoke of the lives they had taken in the name of justice.

But Dante hadn’t forgotten.

He stood on the rooftop of an abandoned high-rise, the city sprawled beneath him like a breathing organism, its lights flickering against the night. The air was thick with the stench of industry, the distant murmur of sirens and late-night revelers filling the silence.

Somewhere below, a man was about to die.

Dante had been tracking him for weeks—one of the many corrupt officials who lined their pockets while pretending to serve the people. The kind of man who smiled for cameras while making backroom deals with villains worse than him.

Dante didn’t consider himself a hero—not by any means—but he knew monsters when he saw them.

And he knew how to burn them out.

He stepped forward, the wind tugging at the edges of his coat, his fingers twitching at his sides. Smoke curled from his skin, coiling around him like a living thing. Below, the man walked to his waiting car, bodyguards flanking him on either side. It wouldn’t matter. Dante had learned a long time ago that there were very few defenses against someone who could become smoke, who could slip through cracks and shadows unseen.

He inhaled, felt the familiar heat build in his lungs, and then—

“Voss.”

The voice was smooth, amused, and far too familiar. Dante clenched his jaw.

Lucian Moreau—better known as Lux, the underworld’s most well-informed parasite—leaned against the rooftop’s railing, watching him with a knowing smirk. His silver hair gleamed under the city lights, his expensive suit pristine as ever. He didn’t belong in a place like this, yet somehow, he was always exactly where he needed to be.

Dante exhaled slowly, the flames in his hands dimming but not disappearing. “Lux,” he said, voice rough. “Unless you have something useful to say, get lost.”

Lux raised an eyebrow. “Now, now. Is that any way to speak to a friend?”

“We’re not friends.”

“Associates, then.” Lux sighed dramatically, pushing off the railing and strolling closer.

“You’re about to make quite the mess down there, and while I do enjoy a bit of chaos, I’d be remiss if I didn’t offer you some… alternative options.”

Dante narrowed his eyes. “Get to the point.”

Lux smiled. It was the kind of smile that belonged to someone who had never once lost a game of chess. “Your target—he’s useful to me. And before you set him alight like a particularly flammable scarecrow, I’d like to propose a trade.”

Dante let the fire flare between his fingers, watching the way Lux’s gaze flicked to the glow. Good. He might be playing games, but even Lux wasn’t stupid enough to forget what Dante was. “I don’t trade,” he said.

“No,” Lux agreed. “You destroy. But tell me, Voss—how much closer are you to what you really want?”

The question slithered under Dante’s skin, coiling tight around the part of him that still burned with the need for vengeance.

Lux took his silence as an invitation to continue. "I have names. Faces. People who were there that night. The ones who walked away with clean hands while your family turned to ash.” His voice dropped lower. “I can give them to you.”

Dante stilled.

The wind howled between the buildings, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city. Below, his target was getting into his car, unaware of how close he had come to burning.

He looked at Lux, at the ever-present smirk and the eyes that missed nothing. He had no doubt the bastard was telling the truth. Lux never played a losing hand.

Dante’s jaw tightened. He hated deals. Hated being beholden to anyone. But if Lux had what he claimed…

The fire in Dante’s palm flickered, then died.

Lux’s smirk widened. “A wise decision.”

Dante stepped closer, his voice low, edged with warning. “If you’re lying to me—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Lux placed a hand over his heart, mocking sincerity. “Now, let’s talk terms.”

Dante looked away, down at the city that had long since turned its back on him.

His vengeance had waited this long. It could wait a little longer.

For now.

Eva Langley had always been an afterthought.

Born into a family of legends, she had learned from an early age that she was the exception—the flaw in an otherwise perfect lineage. The Langleys were champions, protectors of justice, warriors bathed in light. Her mother, Dr. Meredith Langley, known to the world as Radiance, was one of the most powerful heroes in existence. Her older brother, Jason, carried the same gifts, an unshakable pillar of strength and invulnerability, beloved by the media.

And then there was Eva.

Powerless. Ordinary. Forgettable.

She still remembered the day she realized she would never be one of them. She had been seven, standing in her family’s sprawling estate as her mother led her through yet another test. Meredith had placed her hands on Eva’s shoulders, her golden eyes filled with a fierce, expectant light.

“Focus, darling,” she had murmured. “The power is inside you. You just need to find it.”

Eva had tried. God, she had tried. She had clenched her fists, squeezed her eyes shut, begged whatever force had blessed the rest of her family to choose her, too. But nothing had come. No surge of light. No superhuman strength. No power.

Her mother’s hands had slipped from her shoulders. The warmth had left her voice.

“Again,” she had said, but there was something colder in her tone. Something distant.

Eva had gone through the motions for years, training with heroes who looked at her with barely concealed pity, listening to her family whisper about her behind closed doors. She’s still young. She just needs time. Her powers will manifest when she’s ready. There has never been a powerless Langley. It’s impossible.

But it wasn’t impossible. It was her reality.

And eventually, her family had stopped making excuses.

Years later, Eva had built a life far from the Langley's. She had traded the grand halls of her family’s mansion for a modest apartment on the city’s outskirts, exchanged the expectations of heroism for the quiet mundanity of a normal existence.

And for the most part, she was content.

She worked at a small publishing house, spending her days buried in manuscripts, running a hand over printed words and appreciating the stories that didn’t revolve around capes and powers. She had friends—Camilla Hayes, the sharp-tongued bartender who had quickly become the closest thing to a sister Eva had ever known. She had independence, freedom, a life that was entirely her own.

But there were still reminders.

Eva pulled her coat tighter around herself as she walked down the city street, the autumn air biting at her skin. A massive screen mounted on the side of a building blared the latest news—Titan Saves Hostages from Burning Building! Langley Family Continues Their Legacy of Heroism!

Her brother’s face filled the screen, his perfect, heroic grin accompanied by the cheers of adoring fans.

Eva’s hands clenched in her pockets. Of course.

Even now, even here, she couldn’t escape them.

The Langley's were everywhere—in the headlines, on the lips of strangers, in the very fabric of the city itself. They were untouchable, their presence so ingrained in the world that it was impossible to forget them.

And she had spent her entire life being the exception to their greatness.

She turned away from the screen and kept walking.

By the time she reached Cam’s bar, the neon Hayes & Co. sign flickered against the darkened sky, the faint hum of conversation spilling out onto the street. She pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit warmth of the space.

Cam glanced up from behind the counter, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you need a drink.”

Eva exhaled. “It’s been a day.”

Cam smirked, already pouring her a glass of wine.

"What is it this time? Your mother sending another ‘come home and fulfill your destiny’ letter?”

Eva slid onto a stool with a groan. “Worse. Jason was on the news again.”

“Ah. The Golden Boy strikes again.” Cam slid the glass across the counter. “What did he do this time? Punch an asteroid?”

“Saved some people from a fire.”

Cam whistled. “And meanwhile, here you are, daring to live your life without a cape. The horror.”

Eva huffed a laugh, lifting the glass to her lips.

"They’ll never stop, will they?”

Cam leaned against the bar. “Nope. Your family doesn’t know how to let go.”

Eva knew it, too. Her mother still sent invitations to hero galas, still left voicemails filled with concern and disappointment. Her brother, Jason, had visited last month, standing in her doorway with that maddening mix of arrogance and genuine belief that she was wasting her potential.

“You’re still a Langley, Eva,” he had told her, as if it were a fact that should define her.

She had slammed the door in his face.

The night air was crisp by the time Eva left the bar. The city hummed around her, the distant sounds of laughter, music, and the ever-present sirens filling the streets. She turned down a quieter road, her apartment only a few blocks away.

And then she felt it.

The shift in the air.

A prickle at the back of her neck.

She stopped walking, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wasn’t alone.

Slowly, carefully, she glanced over her shoulder.

A figure stood beneath a flickering streetlight.

Tall, broad-shouldered, clad in dark clothing that seemed to absorb the light around him. His eyes—blazing red, like embers burning through the night—were fixed on her.

Eva’s breath caught. She knew who he was.

Phantom Flame.

She had heard the stories. A ghost among villains, a firestorm of destruction, a man who hated heroes with every fiber of his being.

And he was watching her.

She turned fully, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her chest. “You following me, or is this just a coincidence?”

Dante smirked, but there was no humor in it. “You tell me.”

She had seen his wanted posters, had read the reports of buildings reduced to ash, of heroes who had barely walked away from their encounters with him. And yet, in this moment, with the city lights casting shadows over his sharp features, he didn’t seem like a mindless monster.

He seemed dangerous, yes—but in a way that felt calculated. Controlled.

Eva lifted her chin. “I don’t have powers. You know that, right? I’m not a threat to you.”

Dante’s eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Oh, I know.” He took a step closer, and the air around him seemed to shimmer with heat. “That’s what makes this interesting.”

Eva’s pulse pounded. She should have been afraid. Should have run.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she met his gaze and asked the one question she already knew would change everything.

“What do you want from me?”

Dante’s smirk faded. He studied her for a moment, as if deciding how much to say. And then—

“You’re not like them.” His voice was quieter now, almost thoughtful. “And that means you might actually see the truth.”

Eva frowned. “What truth?”

Dante exhaled, his red eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite name.

“That heroes aren’t what they pretend to be.”

And just like that, Eva Langley’s carefully built normal life began to crumble.

Eva Langley had spent years building a life where heroes didn’t matter—a life where she wasn’t compared to her mother, where she wasn’t reminded that she was the powerless Langley, the failure of her bloodline. But standing beneath the dim glow of the streetlight, staring into the burning red eyes of the Phantom Flame, she realized something chilling.

No matter how far she ran from that world, it always found her.

The villain standing before her wasn’t just some petty criminal. Phantom Flame was the kind of name spoken in warning. The kind that lingered in police reports and whispered conversations between heroes who weren’t as untouchable as they pretended to be.

And he was watching her with something dangerously close to amusement.

“You’re awfully calm,” Dante remarked, tilting his head slightly. “Most people would be running by now.”

Eva exhaled slowly. She wasn’t calm—her heart was hammering against her ribs, every instinct screaming that she should get as far away from him as possible. But she also knew something else.

Dante Voss didn’t hunt randomly.

If he was here, if he was speaking to her, then that meant he wanted something. And if he wanted something, then she wasn’t dead yet.

So, she did what she always did. She played the hand she was given.

“Running never got me anywhere,” she said evenly. “Besides, if you wanted me dead, I’d already be ashes, wouldn’t I?”

Dante let out a low chuckle. “Smart girl.” He took a slow step forward, and even though he wasn’t touching her, she swore she could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. “Tell me, Langley—do you ever wonder why your family’s so desperate to control you?”

Eva tensed. That was not the question she expected. “What are you talking about?”

Dante studied her, his gaze searching, as if trying to see through her.

“Your mother,” he said. “Your golden boy brother.

They keep trying to pull you back into their perfect world. But not because they care, not really.” His voice dipped lower, almost like a secret. “It’s because they’re afraid of what you might learn if you stayed away long enough.”

Eva’s fingers curled into fists. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Dante smirked. “I know more than you think.”

She wanted to tell him he was wrong. That her family wasn’t some corrupt, power-hungry empire. That Jason might be arrogant and her mother overbearing, but they weren’t bad people.

But the words didn’t come.

Because deep down, Eva knew something had always felt off.

The way they refused to acknowledge anything beyond their own version of justice. The way they treated the hero world as an exclusive club, their influence stretching into places it had no business being. The way they had buried their failures, their mistakes, under mountains of good PR.

And the way they had treated her—as something broken, something that either had to be fixed or forgotten.

Dante must have seen something flicker in her expression, because his smirk faded, replaced by something almost curious.

“You’re not like them,” he murmured. “That’s why I came to you.”

Eva narrowed her eyes. “You think I’m going to help you?”

Dante chuckled again, low and dry. “I think you’re going to want answers as much as I do.”

He stepped back, giving her space again, as if offering her the illusion of choice.

“There’s a lot of dirt under the hero world’s shining façade,” he said. “Secrets they don’t want anyone to know. And your family?” His gaze sharpened. “They’re at the center of it.”

Eva’s stomach twisted.

She should walk away. Right now.

She should pretend she never had this conversation, go back to her apartment, and forget that Dante Voss had ever stood in front of her and planted these doubts in her mind.

But she had spent her whole life living under the shadow of secrets.

And for the first time, she had a chance to uncover them.

“…Where?” she asked, the word barely more than a breath.

Dante’s smirk returned, this time slower, darker.

“I’ll be in touch.”

And then—he vanished.

One moment, he was standing before her, and the next, his body melted into thick, curling smoke, dissipating into the night as if he had never been there at all.

Eva swallowed hard. What the hell had she just done?

She barely slept that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Dante’s red gaze staring back at her. She could still hear his voice, curling through her mind like smoke—They’re afraid of what you might learn.

By morning, she had almost convinced herself that it was a mistake, that listening to a villain would only drag her down a path she didn’t want to walk.

And then her phone rang.

She nearly ignored it until she saw the name flash across the screen.

Jason.

Eva hesitated, then sighed, pressing the answer button.

“Eva.” Her brother’s voice was crisp, controlled. “You’re coming to the gala tonight.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“It’s important. Mom wants you there. We want you there.”

Eva let out a dry laugh. “And you’re just assuming I’m going to say yes?”

Jason sighed, as if she were a child throwing a tantrum. “You’re a Langley, Eva. Whether you like it or not.”

Her jaw tightened. There it was again.

A reminder that, no matter what she did, they would never let her go.

She had spent years running, pushing them away, carving out a life of her own—and yet, here they were, demanding her presence like it was an obligation, not an invitation.

Maybe Dante was right. Maybe there was something they weren’t telling her.

And maybe… she was done being in the dark.

Eva inhaled slowly. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll come.”

Jason sounded almost surprised. “Good. Wear something appropriate.”

She hung up before he could say anything else.

Then, she sat back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, forcing herself to breathe.

If she was going to the gala, she wasn’t going as the powerless Langley who was grateful for an invitation.

She was going to get answers.

And if she had to cross paths with a villain to get them?

Then so be it.