Steven’s POV

  It was on fire.

  Flames tore up the side of the house—bright, vicious—turning the windows into glowing squares like the inside was already gone. Smoke poured out in thick waves, black and heavy, swallowing the porch light and the shape of the roofline.

  I couldn’t breathe right. The air tasted sharp—melted plastic and something electrical.

  “No.” The word came out broken. “No, no, no—”

  It registered all at once—the worst of it was coming from the kitchen side.

  Then my brain caught up to the only thought that mattered.

  Mom.

  “Mom!”

  It was the weekend. Katie would be home too.

  “Katie!”

  I sprinted up the driveway so hard my lungs burned. Gravel slid under my shoes. Heat hit me in waves even from this far away, like opening an oven door and keeping your face there too long.

  “Mom… Katie…!” I shouted again, my voice cracking. “Where are you?”

  My eyes scanned the yard like a frantic camera—front steps, porch, driveway, the edge of the trees—anywhere either of them could’ve run.

  Please. Please be outside.

  No one.

  Just smoke—thick and black—funneling upward and swallowing the stars.

  The entire left side of the house was already devoured, flames licking greedily at the roof, belching smoke through shattered windows.

  Without thinking, I ran straight for the front door.

  The second my fingers touched the knob, pain flashed up my arm—hot and instant. I jerked back with a sharp breath, cradling my hand.

  The door didn’t budge anyway. Something was blocking it from the other side.

  I didn’t waste another second there. I took off running toward the back.

  I sprinted around back, and the French doors gave me a clear view inside. The front entry was a mess—collapsed beams and debris piled where the door should’ve opened.

  I have to get in.

  I shrugged off my jacket and wrapped it tight around my burned hand. Then I gripped the French door handle and pulled.

  It opened.

  Heat rolled out like it had been waiting for me.

  My skin flared. My lungs seized.

  Instinct screamed to run—

  but I forced myself inside anyway. The moment I crossed the threshold, I yanked the jacket up over my mouth and nose, fighting not to cough as smoke clawed at my throat.

  I went straight toward the kitchen—toward where the damage looked worst.

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  It was a graveyard of collapsing beams and roaring flame. Fire chewed through everything it touched, snapping and hissing like it was alive.

  There was no way through.

  “Mom!” I shouted, voice raw. “Mom!”

  Nothing.

  No answer. No movement. No cough. No anything.

  Is she… no.

  I staggered back, blinking hard against the sting in my eyes, chest heaving as reality sank deeper with every heartbeat.

  She’s gone.

  I clenched my fists, heat and smoke and something even hotter burning behind my eyes.

  The kitchen was the worst of it—too far gone, too blocked, too deadly. There was no way in or out of there unscathed.

  I couldn’t think about that anymore.

  Not yet.

  I had to find Katie.

  “Katie!” I shouted, forcing my voice louder. “Katie!”

  “Up here!”

  Her voice—thin and distant—barely cut through the roar of the fire, but it was enough. It hit me like a shock to the heart.

  “I’m coming!” I yelled back, clinging to the words like a lifeline.

  Upstairs.

  I sprinted for the staircase.

  The steps were partially collapsed and groaned under my weight as I scrambled up, each one threatening to give way. Heat rolled down from above like the whole second floor had become its own furnace.

  “Katie!” I shouted again.

  “Bathroom!” she coughed.

  I found her huddled inside, soaked to the bone, the shower still spraying over her like a weak shield against the heat. She was coughing so hard she could barely catch a breath.

  “I’ve got you,” I rasped, scooping her up.

  I grabbed a towel, soaked it under the water, and wrapped it over us both. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t armor.

  But it was something.

  The house moaned around us—beams cracking, ceiling sagging, fire roaring like it was laughing at how small we were.

  I didn’t think.

  I just ran.

  I carried her out—far from the house, to the edge of our driveway near the mailbox, where the air was clearer and the smoke thinned.

  I set her down gently, checking her face, brushing wet hair off her cheeks.

  “You’re safe here,” I said, squeezing her trembling shoulders. “You’re far enough.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength.

  “Steven—” she gasped, voice raw. “Mom… is she—”

  She couldn’t finish.

  I couldn’t say it.

  I just nodded.

  And I watched the last bit of light drain from her eyes.

  Katie had always been close to Mom… maybe closer than I ever realized. And standing there, feeling her hand shake around my wrist, I felt my heart crack down the middle.

  I failed them both.

  Katie clutched me tighter for one more moment, then let go, folding into herself and burying her face in her knees.

  I turned back toward the house.

  Our home.

  The only one I’d ever known.

  How were we supposed to move on without Mom?

  Without… anything?

  And then my brain latched onto the next name like it was something I could still control.

  “Dad!” I yelled—too loud, too sudden.

  Katie flinched.

  “Katie,” I said quickly, forcing my voice steadier than I felt. “I need to call Dad. Do you have your phone on you?”

  She blinked at me, wiping at her face with shaking hands. “Yeah. I always have it.”

  “Call nine-one-one,” I said. “And… can you text Aunt Claire in Paris? Tell her what happened.”

  She stared at me like I was an idiot. “Yeah, I know. I’m not stupid.”

  Even now, she still had her spunk. That almost made it worse.

  “Stay by the mailbox,” I added, stepping back. “Don’t move. If anyone comes, tell them you’re with me.”

  Then I walked a few steps away—close enough to see her, far enough to make the call.

  My heart hammered as I dialed Dad’s number.

  What do you tell a husband—now a widower—that his wife is gone?

  The phone rang. Once. Twice. Too long.

  Then—

  “Steven?” Dad’s voice came through, confused.

  Because I never called him.

  Hearing him knocked every planned sentence straight out of my head.

  “Dad—there was a fire,” I blurted. “Mom—” I swallowed hard. “I couldn’t get her out.”

  Silence.

  For a second, I was stupid enough to think he’d say, I’m on my way.

  Then Dad exhaled—controlled, distant—like he’d switched into business mode.

  “Steven… I wish I could be there. I checked with the airport before I left—there’s heavy fog and the runway’s shut down. Flights are grounded. I decided to come next week instead. I told your mother. Did she not mention it?”

  My stomach dropped.

  What… Dad isn’t coming home?

  What are Katie and I supposed to do now?

  “Dad… we—”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll wire money to the account I set up for you. You’re eighteen now—you can use it as you see fit.”

  “Thanks, Dad,” I managed, even though the words felt wrong. Too small for what just happened.

  “Take care of your sister,” he continued. “Everything will be fine. I’ll call again when I’m able to check on you.”

  Before I could say anything else, the line went dead.

  I stared at my phone.

  Then at the fire.

  Then back at Katie, shaking by the mailbox.

  And I realized the worst part wasn’t the house.

  It was the emptiness that followed.

  I stood there for one stunned heartbeat—and then something else hit me.

  Something I’d forgotten.

  “Fang.”