You won’t remember
when she arrived.
You’ll remember
what remained.
Smoke.
Ash.
A strange taste
of freedom
in the air.
Wildfire doesn’t conquer.
She exposes.
Burns away
the pretty little lies
until only bones
and truth remain.
Then she walks away—
boots against pavement,
sunglasses hiding
whatever ghosts
follow behind her.
Someone asks,
“Was she one of the heroes?”
The Sirens laugh.
Wildfire doesn’t turn around.
She never needed
to be.
She only needed
to finish
what she came for.
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