Just a few feet away, the janitor’s closet ticks with quiet,flammable promise. Bottles of cleaner. Ammonia. Bleach. Industrial chemicals sealed tight…but not tight enough.
The fire finds it all.
There’s a hiss. A small pop. Then a bloom of heat like breath exhaled through a dragon’s mouth.
And the school is empty.
No alarm blares.
No sprinklers activate.
No one sees it.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
ANALYSE
It’s only twenty minutes later, when I’m stapling aWelcome Back!banner onto the bulletin board, that I hear it.
A faint creaking above me—metal groaning, shifting. Then a low whooshing from the hallway vents, like a heavy breath being exhaled. Then?—
“Mami?”
I turn.
Maya stands in the doorway of the classroom, her sandwich forgotten on the table behind her. Her pink coat hangs off one shoulder, and her voice is small—tight with something she can’t name yet.
“It smells funny.”
My stomach dips. “What kind of funny?”
She wrinkles her nose, hesitating. “Like…burnt marshmallows. But not good ones.”
I cross the room fast, adrenaline already building. I don’t wait to question it. The moment I crack the door open, it hits me. Smoke. Thick. Acrid.
It slams into my face like a wall—hot, chemical. Choking. It doesn’t smell like marshmallows. It smells like burning plastic. Melting wires. Panic.
“Maya,” I say, sharp and loud now. “Back up. Go to the desk. Now.”
Her eyes go wide. She stumbles back, obedient and scared, her little hands clutching at the edge of her coat. She’s crying now, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.
I step into the hallway—just enough to look.
The smoke is everywhere, pouring from the east corridor like a living thing. Low to the ground at first, but rising, swirling. I can’t see flames, but I can feel them—somewhere close, too close. My classroom is down the far opposite wing, but I can already tell…it’s spreading fast.
Too fast.
No alarm.
No flashing lights.
No intercom, no alert, nothing.
Just smoke.
I stumble back inside and shove the door shut, coughing hard, chest already burning. The seal won’t hold long, but it’s something.
“Maya,” I gasp, grabbing the water bottle from her desk and pushing it into her hands. “Small sips. Go sit under the teacher desk, okay? You need to get low. Stay low.”
