Signal Fire

The building groaned as Jules scaled the crumbling fire escape, flames flickering from windows below. Her suit stuck to her skin — half from sweat, half from soot — and the comm crackled in her ear like gravel.

“Left at the next window,” Cam’s voice said calmly. “The stairwell collapsed — you’ll need to rappel down.”

“Got it,” she replied, voice thin with exhaustion.

On the street below, crowds watched from behind barricades. Reporters jostled for angles. Drones hovered, lenses gleaming. The world saw a hero.

But the voice guiding her? No camera caught that.

Cam’s setup was three blocks away, in a cluttered apartment packed with monitors, maps, and enough coffee mugs to fill a diner. He watched Jules on four different feeds, fingers dancing over the keyboard, tracking structural data and crowd movement in real-time. No powers. No spotlight. Just focus — and worry, tightening his chest each time she vanished from view.

“You’ve got civilians in 3B,” he said. “Watch your steps — the fire’s creeping toward their door.”

Jules nodded and ducked through broken drywall, shouts echoing down the hallway. Her legs trembled from exertion. She pressed forward anyway.

A child cried inside.

By the time she reached them, smoke filled the corridor. Jules smashed the lock, coaxed the family out one by one, and shielded them with her body as they fled through the window she’d marked earlier. The last civilian — a teenage girl — clutched her arm and whispered, “Are you scared?”

Jules smiled. “Every time.”

She stayed until the fire crews arrived. Until the cameras turned away. Until she was just a silhouette on a rooftop, invisible again.

Jules sat on the edge of the rooftop, legs dangling over the side, mask pushed up onto her forehead. Her suit was torn at the shoulder, blood crusted along the seam. Below, the city pulsed with life, unaware of the battle that had ended just hours ago. Unaware of her.

She liked it better that way.

A soft shuffle behind her. She didn’t turn.

“I brought coffee,” said Cam, holding out a paper cup like a peace offering.

Jules took it, fingers brushing his. “Thanks.”

They sat in silence, watching the sunrise smear gold across the skyline. Cam was the only one who knew. Not about the powers — those were public domain now, thanks to a viral video and a poorly timed rescue. But the rest. The real stuff. The panic attacks. The nightmares. The way she flinched when someone raised their voice.

“You okay?” he asked.

She sipped the coffee. It was bitter. “Define okay.”

Cam didn’t push. He never did.

After a while, Jules spoke. “You ever wonder if we’re doing more harm than good?”

Cam raised an eyebrow. “You saved a bus full of kids yesterday. And rescued civilians from a burning building today.”

“Yeah. And wrecked three buildings saving the bus, and the building wouldn’t have caught fire if those people hadn’t been looking for me in my apartment.”

He didn’t argue. That was the thing about Cam — he let her spiral without trying to fix it. Just sat in the wreckage with her until the dust settled.

Jules stared at the rising sun. “Can you keep a secret?”

Cam nodded.

“I hate being a hero.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than any explosion. She hadn’t meant to say them. Not out loud.

“I didn’t ask for this,” she continued. “I didn’t train. I didn’t dream about it as a kid. I just… woke up one day and everything was different. And now I’m supposed to be brave and noble and selfless, but I’m not. I’m scared all the time. I miss being invisible.”

Cam didn’t speak for a long time. Then: “You know what I think?”

Jules braced herself.

“I think being a hero isn’t about wanting it. It’s about showing up anyway. Even when you’re scared. Especially when you’re scared.”

She looked at him, eyes rimmed red. “That sounds like something out of a comic book.”

He smiled. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

Jules pulled the mask back down, hiding the tears. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Cam stood, brushing dust from his jeans. “Anytime.”

He turned to leave, but paused at the rooftop door.

“Cam,” Jules said quietly. “Don’t tell anyone what I said. About hating it. About being scared. I don’t want them to think they can’t count on me.”

Cam looked back at her, eyes soft. “Spoken like a true hero.”

Then, with a crooked smile: “Don’t worry. My lips are sealed.”

She watched him disappear into the stairwell, the door clicking shut behind him.

But he didn’t go home.

Cam lingered in the stairwell, leaning against the wall, fingers curled around the empty coffee cup. His heart was a mess of contradictions — pride, envy, guilt. He’d known Jules since they were kids, back when they were both invisible. Back when they used to sneak into the library and read fantasy novels under the table, dreaming of worlds where they mattered.

Then she got powers. And everything changed.

He’d never resented her for it. Not really. But sometimes, when the city chanted her name or plastered her face across billboards, he felt like he was watching someone else live the life they used to imagine together.

He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be seen. He wanted to matter.

But he didn’t have powers. Just a good heart and a front-row seat to someone else’s legend.

And now she hated it.

Cam closed his eyes, trying to swallow the bitterness. It wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t asked for any of it. And she still showed up, even when it broke her.

Maybe that was the real difference between them.

He wanted the glory. She carried the weight.

Cam exhaled and started down the stairs. He wouldn’t tell anyone. Not because she asked — though he’d honor that, too — but because he understood now. Being a hero wasn’t about being seen.

It was about showing up.

And maybe, in his own quiet way, he was doing that too.