The fireball hit before the last vine finished closing the gap.
One moment, the front garden was moving like a living mouth, dragging blood into the soil and weaving new growth across the exposed path. The next, orange light flooded the entrance of the cul-de-sac, and a ball of fire tore through the forming wall where the gate used to stand.
Heat rolled across the lawn hard enough to make Chenghai lift one arm in front of his face. The blast struck the vines in a clean circle, burning through leaves, stems, flowers, and the young growth that had only begun knitting itself back together.
The plants screamed in pain.
It wasn't a human sound.
It came through the roots, through the grass, through every vine recoiling from the burned edge. The noise scraped across Chenghai's nerves and made his hands curl into fists before he even knew he had moved.
Rouxi screamed too. Not because she was hurt or afraid, but because she just got a whole lot more pissed off.
