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I don't know how long I spent in the locker, covered in filth, before I felt a spark of fire kindle inside me, a spark of fire that consumed my terror and replaced it with hatred. Probably not as long as it felt.
It doesn't matter. The Trio had declared war on me, and war they would have. The fire was singing in my veins, filling me with the strength to overcome, the strength to overwhelm. The air around me burned. The filth covering me exploded as the water in it turned instantly to steam.
I thought, in the moment, that maybe I'd somehow triggered with a copy of Lung's powers, but that feeling soon passed. The steel of the lockers melted and flowed and became one with me, encasing me in a blazing, molten shell. Paint was catching fire at least a foot away from me, and I viewed the world through a rippling heat-haze.
A spear took shape in my hand as I stepped clear of the molten ruin of the lockers. Winslow had seen more violence than any school should, and it sang to me. The wing-horns of my helmet grazed the ceiling, and the heat set light to the acoustic tile.
"Sophia!" I bellowed, as I set off down the hall, ceramic tiles fracturing underfoot and sprinklers creating a cloud of steam around me. I wasn't sure which class Sophia was in right then, but even in my rage, I didn't want to leave anyone else trapped with no way to reach a fire exit without going past me.