I dreamt the fire never ended

I was standing at the edge of a ridge, not burning, just watching—except the smoke wasn’t rising. It was falling, like ash in reverse, back into the earth. The air tasted like cold coffee and old radio static. No one else was there, but I could hear the crew’s voices from years ago, muffled through the wind: ‘Nina, you good?’ And I didn’t answer. I just let the silence settle in my chest, like it had been waiting for me all along.