The foundry alley smelled sharper than usual — burnt oil and iron. Leia tugged her hood lower and kept her eyes on the crates.
She had set her new thread trap again — a silent version, this time. It wouldn't trip loudly, just tighten around an intruder's foot and alert her by tugging the thread inside her sleeve.
Simple. Subtle. Safe.
Or so she thought.
---
The tug came suddenly — sharper than usual.
Leia stood, heart racing.
Someone was in the alley. But it wasn't a child or a drunk this time.
The footfalls were heavy. Intentional.
A boy — maybe a year older than her — stepped into view. Bright copper hair. A half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. His coat was stitched with flame-thread patterns, glowing faintly.
Leia's breath caught.
She knew what that meant.
A flame-tier user.
Probably C-Rank. Maybe more.
He paused when he saw her.
"Oh. You again."
Leia frowned. "We've met?"
The boy tilted his head. "Sort of. You stitched that snare last week, yeah? Nearly tripped my brother. He bruised his wrist."
"I didn't know he'd come through here."
The boy rolled his wrist, and fire traced his fingers like snakes of smoke. "That's the thing about power. It goes where it wants."
Leia didn't respond.
He stepped closer.
"What kind of rank you got?" he asked casually.
Leia stayed silent.
He chuckled. "Right. You'd have said something if it was higher than D."
The fire on his fingers flared — not dangerously, but enough to make her flinch.
That was enough for him.
He raised a hand and pointed.
"Don't worry. Just a scare."
A ribbon of flame snapped forward, fast as a whip.
Leia ducked, but not fast enough.
The fire grazed her side — caught the edge of her cloak.
It didn't burn.
The coat shimmered faintly. The thread pulsed. The heat bent away from her like a veil of water.
The boy blinked.
Leia straightened.
The snare thread in the ground pulled tight — and suddenly his foot jerked sideways.
He stumbled. Not hard. Not fall-flat embarrassing.
But just enough to lose face.
He scowled. "What—?"
Leia raised her chin.
"I stitched that one for people who talk too much."
The flame fizzled out on his fingers.
He glared at her cloak.
"That's not normal thread."
Leia said nothing.
"Where'd you get it?"
She stepped back.
"You should leave now."
---
The boy narrowed his eyes — but didn't press. Whether it was guilt, embarrassment, or actual caution, Leia didn't know.
But he left.
She stood still for a long time after he vanished.
Then she sat on the crate, hands trembling.
The cloak had held.
The snare had worked.
She had been seen. Not entirely — but enough to make someone pause.
And that, in a city like this, was rare.
---
Later, as she stitched new thread into her coat's lining, Selene sat beside her in silence.
"You smell like smoke," her mother finally said.
Leia kept sewing.
"There was a boy," she murmured. "With fire. He tried to scare me."
Selene's voice tightened. "Did he hurt you?"
"No," Leia said. "But he almost did."
She paused.
"Almost used to mean it didn't matter."
Selene didn't reply.
Leia tugged the thread tighter.
"Now I think almost means I was ready."
---