Reborn, I Refused a Lighter and Watched Intern Play Fire

In my last life, I lent someone a lighter out of kindness during a typhoon, and it earned me the name of an arsonist and left me dead in the street.

That day the rain came down in sheets, and the intern, Luther Fox, had soaked every one of his windproof lighters until not one of them would spark.

He begged me to lend him the spare kerosene lighter from my desk, then went to the warehouse door to light up and set off a flash fire.

After the fire investigation, he needed to bury the truth: that he'd been breaking the rules for days, smoking inside the warehouse, laying the groundwork for the blaze all along.

So he swore up and down that I had secretly filled the lighter with gasoline.

The whole company turned on me, and his fiancee, in a fury, had me thrown into a holding cell.

Not only was I blacklisted across the entire industry, on the day I walked out of detention a van driven by someone out of his mind plowed straight into me and threw me through the air.

Living it all over again, I land right back at the moment Luther is standing over my desk, milking my lighter for pity.

......

"Oliver Henson, can I borrow that spare windproof kerosene lighter of yours, just for a second?"

My eyes snapped open, my vision sharpening out of a blur all at once.

Luther was crouched beside my desk, both hands clamped hard on the armrests of my chair.

Cold sweat broke out down my back.

The splitting pain of a van crushing my bones seemed to linger in my body still.

I pulled my hand back into the desk drawer, my voice flat and hard.

"No."

Luther froze for a second.

Disbelief spread across his face, and open anger crept into his voice.

"Oliver, just for a second. One cigarette and I'll give it right back."

"All my lighters got soaked. None of them work."

"You've got a spare sitting right there in your drawer. Can't you cut me a little slack?"

The moment he said it, most of the keyboard clatter in the office died away.

Several pairs of eyes lifted from behind their monitors.

I looked at him coldly.

Last time, he'd crouched right here and made the same request.

I went soft and lent him the lighter, and he rushed to the warehouse door to light up, ignited the leaking dust in the air, and started the fire.

Then swore up and down that I'd filled the lighter with gasoline.

I stared at that harmless-looking face of his and spaced out every word.

"Didn't you say last time that a guy playing with a kerosene lighter looks like some hick? What, not too low-class for you now?"

"Besides, I have asthma. I stopped using kerosene lighters a long time ago. I really can't help you."

Manager Mason came striding into the office.

He slammed a stack of reports down on my desk.

"Oliver, what are you playing at?"

"You're a senior employee here. You're his mentor."

"It's just a lighter. You really have to pull rank and bully an intern over it?"

I raised my eyes to Mason.

Last time, he was the one who'd led the charge, accusing me of being jealous of the new hire.

He was also the one who'd let Luther's fiancee come to the company and make a scene.

I kicked my chair back and stood up straight.

"Manager Mason, the company has clear fire-safety rules and a no-smoking policy."

"Of all times, he wants to light a cigarette right now. Isn't that his problem?"

"If you think he's done nothing wrong, you're welcome to lend him your own windproof lighter."

Mason jabbed a finger against my desk.

"Oliver! You really have to wreck the whole department's unity over a little thing like this?"

"We're all colleagues here. You get the whole helping-each-other thing, don't you?"

"He's in a bad mood. So who's running today's data reconciliation? You handling it all yourself?"

I dropped straight back into my chair and logged into the company's admin and facilities system.

"Besides, admin always keeps lighters on hand."

"Since Manager Mason cares so much about his subordinate's health, I'd be glad to check with admin for him."

Eight minutes later, the admin assistant walked in carrying a whole box of lighters.

"Luther, you don't need Oliver's lighter anymore."

"There are plenty here. This should be more than enough for you."

Luther took the box with trembling hands and muttered under his breath.

"This kind of thing... how am I even supposed to use it? It's so tacky."

Mason shot him a glare. "Just take them and stop causing trouble."

Luther bit his lip and took the lighters.

I pushed the tablet aside and grabbed the projector remote off my desk.

The company group chat flashed up onto the glass wall of the conference room.

I zoomed in on the hurricane warning posted at three o'clock yesterday afternoon.

I pointed at the screen and let my eyes sweep across the whole office.

"Corporate sent the safety notice yesterday."

"Luther, you're the one who wanted to look cool. You're the one who didn't care about your own safety."

"Aren't grown adults supposed to think about how to solve their problems? Since when do you have to borrow a lighter off someone else?"

I looked around at my coworkers and spaced out every word.

"Fine if nothing happens. But if something does, who takes the fall? Which one of you could carry that?"

The office went dead silent.

A few of the coworkers who'd been whispering and blaming me a minute ago dropped their heads and pretended to study their keyboards.

Luther gripped the edge of that electric hand warmer, his knuckles going white.

"Oliver, I didn't check the group..."

I cut him off without mercy.

"Not checking the group is your problem. It's no reason to come find me first thing in the morning to borrow a lighter."

Graham strode up to my desk and pulled out a form stamped with a red seal.

"Oliver, you think you've outgrown your britches?"

"This is Luther's probation review for next month."

"You're his mentor. Your evaluation counts for forty percent of the score."

"You pull a stunt this cold today, is it that you don't want to mentor him, or that you don't want to stay in this department?"

I looked at the review form, a mocking curl tugging at the corner of my mouth.

I reached back and pulled open the bottom drawer.

Out came a document I'd printed long ago, already marked with my personal seal.

I pinched it by the edge, flicked my wrist, and threw it straight at Graham's chest.

The paper drifted down and settled at his feet.

The words across the top were crystal clear: Confirmation of Termination of Mentor-Mentee Arrangement

Graham froze, staring down at the paper on the floor, taking a long moment to react.

"What's this supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what it says." My voice was flat, not a ripple in it.

"As of now, I'm no longer Luther's mentor."

I picked up the internal line on my desk and dialed HR directly.

I hit speaker. Two rings, then someone picked up.

"Freda, it's Oliver."

"I'm formally handing off the mentoring for Luther."

HR answered fast: "Got it."

The call ended, and Luther completely lost it.

He lunged over and grabbed my sleeve.

"Oliver! Oliver, I was wrong!"

"I'll never borrow anything from you again, okay?"

"Don't drop me. Without a mentor, my probation review next month is going to get killed for sure!"

He looked utterly pitiful.

I looked down at his hand clutching mine, reached over with my other hand, and pried his fingers loose one by one.

"Don't touch me."

Graham slammed a fist against the side of the water cooler.

"Oliver! You don't have a shred of empathy!"

"A selfish person like you doesn't deserve a spot on my team!"

I grabbed my car keys and bag off the desk and forced the computer to shut down.

"Whether I deserve it isn't your call. It's the employment contract's call."

"Today's a hurricane red alert. Per the city emergency management office, nonessential staff can clock out early."

"Goodbye."

I pushed through the glass door of the office without looking back and headed for the elevators.

The cold air in the hallway hit my face, and I felt clearer than I ever had.

I walked down the storm-lashed street under a black umbrella.

The wind whipped the standing water off the pavement and hurled it against my pant legs.

Just then my phone buzzed. It was Director Finch, the HR director at my new company.

"Oliver, we've checked over all your onboarding details on our end. Everything's in order."

"How's the handover going with your old employer?"

I flipped through the emergency medical certificate in my hand, my tone easy. "All smooth, Director Finch."

"I've already cut off every core access permission I held."

Finch laughed warmly. "Good. A senior manager like you is exactly what our team needs."

I hung up. I'd barely stepped out the hospital doors when my phone buzzed again.

It was a message from Luther. A photo of the office floor slick with muddy water.

Under it, a whiny voice-to-text line.

"Oliver, that electric hand warmer is such a downgrade, and it doesn't warm my hands at all."

"Can I really not just borrow your kerosene lighter for a bit? I'll only light a cigarette at my desk, I swear I won't wander off."

I stared at the message, and a wave of pure irritation rose in me.

What was his obsession with my lighter, anyway?

Or had he already planned to start a fire today, and just needed an excuse to pin the blame on someone else?

I typed back a reply.

"Administrative records show you already picked up an electric hand warmer today."

"Please use it in strict accordance with company safety regulations."

"If you refuse to use it for personal reasons and any accident results, the responsibility is your own."

Five minutes later, Luther posted an update on his social media feed.

In the photo, he was still clutching that damp, cheap lighter.

The caption read: "Some senior colleagues have hearts colder than the rain on a hurricane day. Do new hires just deserve to freeze?"

Mason liked it almost at once.

Then two coworkers, the type who always played peacemaker, sent me DMs.

"Oliver, you were way too worked up today."

"Lending him a lighter wouldn't cost you a thing."

"We all have to see each other every day. Don't let things get this tense."

I looked at these self-satisfied little lectures, and the corner of my mouth curled.

I switched back to the company group chat, fingers flying across the screen, and sent one last message.

"Attention, everyone."

"There's serious flooding in the corridor and at the warehouse entrance. The floor is extremely slippery, and no open flames are allowed anywhere near the warehouse."

"Don't count on luck. Safety first."

Once it was sent, I put the group chat on Do Not Disturb.

Then I dropped the phone into my bag and caught a cab home.

Back home, I took a hot shower and changed into dry, comfortable loungewear.

The rain outside pounded against the glass, sharp and steady.

The wind howled, tearing at the treetops along the road.

I brewed a steaming cup of black tea and settled back into the soft couch.

Watching the second hand on the wall tick across, one notch at a time.

The time crept toward five thirty in the afternoon.

In my last life, this was the exact moment Luther rushed to the warehouse entrance to light a cigarette, ignited the leaked dust, and caused the flash-fire explosion.

I lifted my cup and took a sip of the warm black tea.

This time, I wanted to see just how he planned to keep this act going.

I tapped open the company group chat I'd left on mute all afternoon.

It had completely blown up.

The screen was wall-to-wall photos of black smoke pouring out, ugly and impossible to look away from.

In one shot, Luther was down on the waterlogged ground outside the warehouse, both hands clamped over his face.

That cheap, damp-ruined lighter lay tossed to one side, and behind him the warehouse roller door had buckled out of shape, smoke gushing wildly through the gaps.

New messages were coming in a dozen a second.

"Oh my God! The warehouse is on fire! Luther's been burned!"

"Somebody call 911! Where's the fire truck?"

"How did it just catch like that? What was all that flammable stuff on the ground by the door?"

Then Mason dropped a sixty-second voice message into the chat.

I played it, and his roar filled the whole living room in an instant.

"Oliver! You vicious piece of work!"

"Fine, you didn't want to lend a lighter. So why the hell did you pour gasoline outside the warehouse?"

"Security says they never stored any flammable liquid anywhere near there! That oil on the ground is all you!"

"You were jealous Luther was getting hired on full-time, so you deliberately used a lighter to torch the place and scar him for life!"

"I'm telling you, this is arson, plain and simple! You just wait to go to prison!"

I looked at the messages on the screen, cold-eyed.

Absurd. Completely absurd.

I'd left the office at two thirty that afternoon. The security cameras and the keycard logs both recorded it.

And he was still trying to pin the gasoline on me.

Before I could even close the app, a glaring topic popped up in the local trending list.

"Vicious veteran employee, jealous, splashes fuel outside warehouse and sets fire that scars intern for life"

A dark red "HOT" tag sat right behind it.

I clicked in. The first post was a ghost-pale selfie of Luther lying on a stretcher in an ambulance.

His face was wrapped in gauze, tear tracks at the corners of his eyes, the caption laid on thick:

"My face, my future, all gone."

"If this senior had a problem with me, he could have taken it out on me directly. Why destroy my whole life like this?"

The post was shared over ten thousand times in ten minutes.

The comments were a flood of raging curses at me. Someone had even dug up my employee badge photo and my name.

"A murderer like this should be cut to pieces!"

"Find out what company he's at and blacklist him across the whole industry!"

My phone buzzed hard. It was the recruiter from the new company.

The moment I answered, the voice on the other end came fast and clipped:

"Mr. Henson, given that you're currently caught up in an extremely damaging public scandal"

"Director Finch's instruction is to suspend your offer for now, until the police issue a clear conclusion to their investigation."

"I'm sorry. We can't take on that kind of reputational risk."

The call cut off from their end.

At the same moment, a huge crash

Someone kicked my security door hard from the outside, hard enough to shake dust from the walls.

Curses came through from the hallway.

"Oliver! You murdering animal! Get your ass out here!"

"You ruined my husband's face, and I want a life for a life!"

"Break the door down! We're beating him to death today!"

The door handle was wrenched back and forth, metal shrieking as it twisted.

I sat on the couch, watching the iron door shudder.

And dialed 911.

After hanging up, I moved quickly to the computer.

I opened the company's internal collaboration software and started an online video meeting with mandatory attendance for everyone.

I dragged in Mason, the company's HR director, the legal counsel, and Luther's account, pulling them all into the room.

The instant the call connected, Mason's face, twisted with rage, filled the screen.

"Oliver! You've got the nerve to open a video call? You get to the hospital and kneel and apologize right now!"

I ignored his roaring and turned the camera on myself.

Then I slowly raised my right hand.

In front of the lens, I held up a small black USB drive.

"When Luther lit that fire, the camera outside the warehouse really was broken."

"So you all figured no one saw it, and you could just make up whatever story you liked."

I looked at Mason on the screen, a cold smile curving at the corner of my mouth.

"Want to see what's on the drive?"