His hands caught fire.

A sleepy smile spread across the woman’s face, as if she’d already won. Leo screamed with desperation. His vision turned red. Flames washed over the earthen woman, the walls, the locked doors.

And Leo lost consciousness.

When he woke, he was in an ambulance.

The paramedic tried to be kind. She told him the warehouse had burned down. His mother hadn’t made it out. The paramedic said she was sorry, but Leo felt hollow. He’d lost control, just like his mother had warned. Her death was his fault.

Soon the police came to get him, and they weren’t as nice. The fire had started in the break room, they said, right where Leo was standing. He’d survived by some miracle, but what kind of child locked the doors of his mother’s workplace, knowing she was inside, and started a fire?

Later, his neighbors at the apartment complex told the police what a strange boy he was. They talked about the burned handprints on the picnic table.

They’d always known something was wrong with Esperanza Valdez’s son.

The Lost Hero, Chapter XI