Chapter 2
The heat hit like a wall the moment I crossed the threshold. Smoke clawed down my throat, thick and bitter. I stayed low, one hand against the floor, following the faint rhythm of a child crying through a hallway that was slowly turning black.
Paintings worth more than my yearly rent curled and burned on the walls as I passed them.
Upstairs, the banister was hot enough to sting through the fabric. The air felt wrong—too thin, too sharp.
And then I saw the door.
Half-closed. Flickering light spilling from inside.
“Elliot?” I called, coughing hard.
A weak sound answered.
I pushed the door open.
There he was.
A little boy—no older than six—curled behind a dresser, clutching a stuffed dinosaur so tightly his knuckles were white. His face was streaked with soot, eyes wide with terror.
I didn’t think.
I just moved.
I wrapped him in the wet cloth, pulled him into my arms, and held him close to my chest.
May you like
“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “Listen to me, okay? Stay low. Don’t breathe too deep.”
Behind us, the ceiling groaned again—louder this time.
