He leaned forward and touched the flame to the soaked wood.

A sudden sheet of fire erupted up the side of the tool shed.

The bright light flickered through the trees ahead of me, casting long, dancing shadows across the path.

I didn’t run.

I knew exactly what would happen next.

Above the wooden siding of the shed, the high-pressure nozzle of the exterior sprinkler clicked.

A heavy hiss sounded through the quiet night.

A thick, white mist of fire-retardant foam sprayed down from the eaves.

The fire gasped and died instantly under the chemical blanket.

Dorian jumped back, coughing and wiping the white foam from his face.

He looked up at the nozzle in disbelief.

He kicked the empty gas can, sending it clattering against the stone foundation.

“Damn it!” he yelled into the empty woods.

His voice carried clearly to where I stood.

I stepped behind a thick ponderosa pine, watching him through the branches.

He was shivering now, his expensive jacket soaked in chemical foam and gasoline.

He pulled out his phone, his fingers shaking as he tried to wipe the screen.