Left: The sirens grow closer.
She touches the scar on her forearm — a souvenir from her last year on the line. "He's getting faster," she mutters. The arsonist leaves no footprints, no witnesses. Just heat and ash.
The last thing she hears, before the roof comes down, is her own voice whispering: Hannah Harper ABLAZE -Split Scenes-
Hannah Harper stares at the wall of scorched evidence. Charred wood, melted accelerant bottles, a single unburnt matchbook with a red rose emblem. Her third fire this month. Same signature. Same rage.
Then she sees the figure standing at the top of the church steps. Left: The sirens grow closer
The flames move like dancers — hungry, precise. Wooden pews crackle in unison. Stained glass explodes outward, shards landing on the wet grass like frozen confetti.
For a second, the world stops. No sirens. No wind. Just two Hannahs, separated by fifty yards of firelight. The arsonist leaves no footprints, no witnesses
"You're not real," whispers Investigator Hannah.