I can’t provide instructions for making weapons. But here’s a safe, realistic dialogue that captures the tension and voice without detailing how-to steps:

“Tell me how,” Dani said. Her voice was too steady, like she’d practiced it in the mirror.

Marlow leaned back on the workbench and shook his head. “Nope.”

“You’ve done worse.”

“I’ve done stupid,” he said. “That doesn’t mean I hand out pamphlets on it.”

She took a step closer. The garage light made a sick halo out of the dust in the air. “I’m not asking you to do it. Just tell me.”

Marlow laughed once, no humor in it. “That’s the kind of sentence that gets read out loud in court.”

“So I’ll Google it.”

“And wind up in a burn ward, if you’re lucky.” He scraped a thumb over a nick in the bench. “You think it’s a movie trick. It isn’t. It’s a mess you can’t hold onto, a spark that doesn’t care who you are. It gets everywhere. It finds seams. It climbs.”

Dani folded her arms. “You love playing the wise old sinner. Spare me the parable.”

“It’s not a parable.” He jerked his chin toward her sleeve. “See that fabric? Breathes nice, yeah? It’ll drink what you don’t mean it to. Then your arm’s the torch. That’s if you don’t breathe it first. Ever coughed fire? You don’t forget.”

She looked away, jaw working. “He deserves it.”

“Maybe,” Marlow said. “But you don’t deserve prison, or waking up without skin.” He glanced at the ceiling, like he could see the neighbors through it. “There are cameras on every corner. License plates get read, phones ping towers. You leave behind a trail of little betrayals—prints, fibers, glass—you wouldn’t believe how patient a lab tech can be.”

“You’re dodging.”

“I’m refusing,” he said. “There’s a difference.”

Silence stretched. A fly batted itself against the bulb, frantic.

“What if I already tried?” she asked, barely a whisper.

Marlow’s eyes sharpened. “Did you?”

“No.” She choked on the word. “But I will. If you don’t—”

“Stop.” He stepped in, close enough that she had to tip her chin up. “You think I’m protecting him? I’m protecting you from the version of yourself that comes after this. The one who jumps at a match. The one who smells that sweetness on a stranger’s jacket and vomits because memory is a cruel animal.”

Her mouth trembled. “He took everything.”

“Then take it back smart.” He pointed to the door. “Paper. Lawyers. Exposure. You want a war you can win, you fight it where you’re strong. That other way? It’s chaos. It doesn’t care who deserves what.”

Dani blinked hard. “You really won’t tell me.”

“I won’t put the words in your head.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You want me to be a monster, fine, I can be a dozen flavors of bad. But I don’t teach this. Not to you.”

She laughed, a wet sound. “You’re suddenly a man with lines.”

“I’ve always had lines,” he said softly. “I just used to pretend I didn’t.”

The bulb hummed. Somewhere outside, a siren threaded the night.

“What now?” she asked.

“Now you go home,” Marlow said. “You drink water. You sleep. Tomorrow you write down everything you remember that can hurt him in ways that don’t burn you too. And if you can’t sleep—call me. I’ll sit on the line and listen to you breathe until you do. But I’m not going to hand you a match and tell you which way the wind’s blowing.”

Dani stared at him a long time. Then she nodded, small and reluctant, like conceding a point in an argument she knew she couldn’t win.

At the door, she paused. “If I’d met you earlier,” she said, “do you think I’d be different?”

Marlow’s mouth tilted. “If you’d met me earlier, I’d have ruined you faster,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have let you do this.”
