Goodbye, Saintess.

It was the letter to end it all. There was no turning back for me.

From that moment on, no matter what happened, it would have nothing to do with Miss Bishop of Edge Inc.

I had barely stepped out of the room when I caught a strange smell.

"Something's burning," I muttered.

The firefighter in me snapped to alert. I followed the scent and found thick smoke leaking through the cracks of a hotel room door.

A fire. I grabbed a nearby extinguisher and kicked the door hard.

After five strong kicks, the door gave way. The acrid smell of smoke hit me instantly. Flickering flames licked inside—the fire was still small, but all it needed was time to grow into a monster.

I removed the safety pin with practiced ease and rushed inside.

Half the bed was engulfed in flames. On the other half stood a striking woman, wrapped only in a bathrobe. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused. She held a wine bottle, took a sip, then poured some onto the fire. The flames roared happily at the offering.

"Holy shit, get up! You're in danger!" I shouted, yanking her away from the bed.

"Ngah! You're hurting me, bozo! Who the hell are you?!" she shrieked, pounding my back with fists. I might have pulled her too hard in panic. "I said, who the fuck are you?! Get out of my room right now!"

I ignored her protests and focused on the fire. With steady hands, I aimed at the base of the flames and pressed the nozzle. A white spray hissed out.

Three seconds later, the fire was out. I exhaled in relief. Luckily, I arrived before it spread. If it had grown, I alone would not have been enough!

I turned to look at the woman behind me.

Holy cow! Now she was lighting the wallpaper on fire.

"Are you for real?!" I shouted, grabbing her wrist with one hand and dousing the wall with the extinguisher in the other.

She yanked herself free and lunged back toward the bed, trying to set the pillow ablaze.

Goddamn it. What was wrong with this woman?

I tackled her to the bed, snatched her lighter, and threw it as far as I could. "Enough! You're committing arson!"

She didn't back down. If anything, she fought harder.

"Is that the best threat you've got, bozo? 'Cause I sure as hell ain't scared! Let me go!" she yelled. "You don't know who I am, do you?! I'm Rhea Canien of the Canien family, you brute! Anyone who crosses me gets it!"

With a burst of crazed strength, she shoved me aside and scrambled for the lighter again.

"What the heck?"

Who let this arsonist loose?!

I grabbed her and pinned her down on the bed.

"Snap out of it! You're drunk," I growled. "I don't care what bigshot family you're from—no one gets a pass for arson. You're no exception."

"Shut your trap!" Rhea spat, glaring at me and struggling fiercely. "How dare you lecture me about crime, you goddamn pervert? Let me go before I report you for harassment and assault!"

I smirked. "I'm doing this because you're trying to set a goddamn hotel on fire!"

"Stop pretending to be a hero, you perv! Why else are you pressing up against me?!"

"Because if I let go, you'll grab the lighter again."

"So what if I do? It's none of your business!"

For the first time since we'd met, I saw her eyes turn glassy. She looked like someone who had just been bullied.

Then I glanced down and realized her bathrobe had slipped open. Too much of her fair, delicate skin was exposed.

Right. Maybe I had leaned in a little too close. And the position I'd taken wasn't helping. It was already more intimate than anything I'd ever been allowed with Hera.

I stepped back and let go. "Sorry. That wasn't my intention. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. I just wanted to stop the fire."

Rhea curled under the bedsheet, only her head peeking out as she glared at me. "Stop the fire? Horseshit. You're just looking for an excuse to violate me!"

"I'm a firefighter, miss. Here are my credentials," I said, amused, and pulled out my badge and ID.

She studied the documents. Her skepticism faded slightly, though her temper remained intact. "So what if you're a firefighter? You're still a guy. Men are all bozos and scum."

Let me see. She was drunk and trying to set things on fire…

"Is that what this is about? Love troubles?" I asked. "Even so, you shouldn't try to end your life over it."

"What's it to you? This is my life! I get to decide how it ends!" she snapped, turning away.

Suddenly, anger surged in me. I had witnessed too many lives destroyed by fire in my career. I had seen countless souls fail to survive the flames, their lives consumed like everything else.

I hated that sight. I hated people throwing away their lives when others fought desperately to live another day.

"You know what? You're right. It's your life. Do whatever the hell you want. See if I care," I snapped. "But your method will drag innocent people down with you. That makes you just as much of an asshole."

Rhea stared at me, stunned. She pointed at herself. "Did you just shout at me?"

"So what if I did? You don't even care about your own life. And now you care about being shouted at? Take a look at yourself. You really think you'll go out peacefully in flames? There won't even be enough left of you to look human when it's over!

"Do you even know how painful it is? It's like being carved up by a thousand flaming blades. People don't die from heat or burns—they die from pain first. Then the fire finishes them off. You don't even know the half of what I've seen."

Yes, I exaggerated. I had to. This woman might not care about her own life, but I still could not—in my conscience—abet the death of another human being by looking away.

"Y-You're just trying to scare me!" Rhea shot back, her face paling as a shiver ran through her.

"And why would I do that? If you don't believe me, go ahead and try it. But don't do it where innocent people can get caught in it. Find a wide, empty concrete spot and immolate yourself. See if I care."