Huge blast of orange flame. Jane jumps and flies backward, sending her through the last unbroken wooden beam in this shack. Exterior shot of flames CGIed out of the corner of a warehouse.
Inside, through the smoke, Jane coughs. She sees the fire and calls out to Tarzan. She gets more fireballs in response. She's choking on the fire that should have already killed her three times.
For some reason, we get exactly the same shot of the warehouse exploding.
Downstairs, everything's cool, and Jane touches Sam on the arm, which always wakes up a person who fell down some stairs. He gets up, disoriented, and follows her.
Jane and Sam stumble out of the warehouse, both coughing. They run underneath the window, where black smoke pours out.
Fade to the firemen putting the smoke out with their hoses. Pan down to all of the cop cars and fire engines. Everybody's talking, radioing, blah, blah, cop stuff. We see Michael debrief to Sam our wrap-up: "So the one guy's name was Trevor Whedon. But guess the name on the birth certificate: Creal. Gregory Creal." Sam: "I knew it. Like father, like son." Michael agrees. The Cap -- who loves stumbling into the middle of conversations and hijacking them -- asks about "the Clayton kid." Michael says that the firemen said "no chance." The Cap approaches Sam: "About this case. You were right. But that doesn't change the fact that you and Porter were completely reckless. Could have gotten yourselves killed." He walks away, but I'm sure we'll hear that exact speech a few more times this year. Sam and Jane stare at each other. Sam's got a bandage over one eye. Jane holds an ice pack to her wrist. Sam sips some coffee. Jane looks away, apparently upset.