She watches Dana from across the bar, red hair glowing under the neon, a cigarette burning forgotten between her fingers.

That girl still thinks she’s the storm.

Lena smirks. She remembers when she was the one Rick drew, the one he called immortal in ink and paper. She knows what comes next.

But still, she warns Dana—gives her just enough truth to start unraveling the lie.

And for once, maybe that’s enough.

Maybe setting fire is the same as lighting the way.