Page 2 of Sun's Roar

“Make a wish, Chef,” Zoe urged, her dark eyes dancing with mischief. “Thirty candles for thirty years.”

Marco set the cake on a prep table someone had cleared. “Though your advanced age required us to buy extra packs.”

Helena laughed as everyone gathered around. Their faces glowed in the candlelight, these people who’d become her surrogate family during endless dinner services and kitchen disasters.

“Happy birthday to you...” they began singing, slightly off-key but with genuine affection.

Helena closed her eyes when they finished, drew in a deep breath, and leaned forward to extinguish the flames.

Instead of going out, the candles flared upward.

Flames shot two feet high, instantly catching the paper towels nearby. The fire spread along the countertop with unnatural speed.

“What the hell?” Marco jumped back, bumping into a shelf.

Helena froze, her lungs seizing with panic as she watched flames dance across her kitchen. The heat didn’t burn her skin despite how close she stood. Instead, it seemed to reach for her, curling around her fingers like an affectionate cat.

“Fire extinguisher!” someone yelled, but nobody moved, all eyes fixed on the inferno that had been a birthday cake seconds ago.

The strange warmth in Helena’s chest surged in response to her fear, racing down her arms. Her fingertips tingled, then burned, then glowed with an inner light that matched the fire consuming her kitchen.

“This can’t be happening,” Helena whispered, staring at her hands in horror as tiny flames danced across her skin without burning her flesh.

“Helena!” Zoe screamed, finally breaking from her shock. “Get back!”

But Helena couldn’t move, transfixed by the impossible sight of fire flowing from her own body, feeding the blaze that threatened everything she’d built.

“What’s happening to me?” she gasped, as the kitchen—her sanctuary, her life’s work—blazed around her.

Helena watched as the flames danced further across the wooden prep table, spreading with unnatural speed toward the ceiling. Her heart hammered against her ribs while her gaze remained fixed on her fingers where tiny flames continued to flicker like birthday candles replanted on her skin.

“We need the fire extinguisher now!” Marco shouted, jolting into action. He lunged for the red canister mounted on the wall.

Zoe grabbed a large metal lid, slamming it over part of the burning cake. “Helena, move back!”

Marco unleashed a blast of white foam from the extinguisher, dousing the main blaze. Two line cooks grabbed pitchers of water, dumping them on smaller flames licking at the edges of the counter. The sizzling hiss of dying fire filled the kitchen along with the acrid smell of smoke and chemicals.

Helena closed her fists tightly, willing the impossible fire on her hands to disappear. The warmth in her chest constricted, pulling back through her arms, and the flames on her fingertips extinguished as if someone had thrown a switch. No one seemed to have noticed—they were too busy with the chaos around them.

“Is everyone okay?” Helena finally managed, her voice barely audible above the commotion.

“What the hell kind of candles were those?” Marco asked, setting down the extinguisher.

“Just regular ones from the party store down the street,” Zoe replied, her eyes wide with lingering fear.

The door to the kitchen banged open. Paige, the restaurant manager, burst in with her ever-present tablet clutched to herchest. Her neat blonde bob swung as she surveyed the foam-covered mess.

“What happened here? I smelled smoke from the office,” Paige demanded, her gaze sweeping over the damage.

Marco gestured to the ruined cake. “The birthday candles went nuclear.”

“Jesus,” Paige exhaled sharply. “Thank goodness you caught it quickly.” She stepped closer to Helena, lowering her voice. “We can’t afford to close for renovations right now. Not with Vesper’s new place stealing our regulars and that critic from the Tribune coming next week.”

Helena nodded mechanically, barely hearing the words. She stared at her hands. Normal hands now. Her pale skin looked slightly reddened from kitchen work, but no fire anymore. Had she imagined it? But the flames had been real enough—the scorched ceiling tiles proved that.

“I’ve never seen candles do that,” one of the line cooks murmured. “It was like watching a magic trick gone wrong.”

“It could’ve ended everything,” another whispered. “My cousin’s restaurant burned down last year. They never recovered after that.”

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