Emberly looked at the dying man. She was a weapon of light in a world drowning in ink. She could walk away, or she could burn. "Let them come," she whispered.
"Maybe," she breathed, a small, defiant spark dancing in her eyes. "But I'm a fool who’s still warm."
She pressed her palm to the man’s chest. The alley erupted in a blinding white flare. For a moment, the rain turned to steam, and the darkness recoiled. When the light faded, the man gasped, his shadow snapping back into place.