The air tightens. Lily looks between us, then pats my knee.“I’ll go check on the pies I have in the oven for tonight’s dinner,” she says softly before slipping inside.
Cas climbs the porch steps and leans against the railing, the boards creaking under his weight.“I got the official report from the fire investigator,” he says quietly.
The warmth drains from my hands, tea forgotten.
“The fire…?” My voice barely makes it out.
Cas nods.“They found the point of origin. Faulty wiring behind the kitchen wall. Old, ungrounded aluminum wiring. The report says there were signs of previous arcing, this wasn’t new. Your landlord should’ve had it replaced years ago.”
I just stare at him. For a moment, I can’t even breathe. Then the words settle in, piece by piece.
It wasn’t my fault.
The stove I thought I’d left on.
The candle I worried over.
All the guilt I’ve been carrying like a stone in my gut.
None of it.
My throat burns.“So you’re saying… it was his fault?”
Cas’s eyes soften.“Yeah. And you and Mia are lucky to be alive.”
Lucky.
The word hits hard. All I can see is the firelight flashing through smoke, Mia’s tiny voice screaming while I clawed at a burning door. Ethan shouting our names. The heat. The terror.
Anger spikes through my chest, hot, sudden.
Footsteps thud across the porch. Ethan appears at the top of the steps, breath sharp.“Cas? What’s going on?”
Cas glances at him, hesitant.“The report’s back. The fire started because of bad wiring, landlord’s negligence.”
I watch Ethan’s face shift, jaw tightening, eyes narrowing, fist forming at his side.
“Negligence?” he repeats, voice low and dangerous.
Cas nods.“Yeah. Looks like the circuit behind the kitchen outlets overloaded. It’s been a hazard for a while.”
Ethan exhales hard through his nose, turning away like he’s trying to rein it in. But his voice comes out like gravel.“You mean to tell me that sorry bastard knew that place was unsafe?”
Cas opens his mouth to answer, but the rumble of an old engine cuts him off. A rusted pickup pulls in behind the patrol truck. A wiry, balding man steps out, clutching his hat.
Mr. Henson.
My landlord.
He looks smaller than I remember, bowing his head and avoiding Ethan’s eyes like he already knows what’s coming.
“Summer,” he calls, voice trembling.“I…I came by to talk. I heard Cas got the report.”
Cas shifts, hand settling near his belt.“Now might not be the best time, Jim.”
“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Henson stammers, climbing the steps.“I never meant for this to happen. I didn’t know the wiring was that bad. It’s an old place, you know how it is…”
“Old place?” Ethan’s voice slices through the air, quiet but razor-sharp.“You rented it to a single mom and her little girl knowing damn well it wasn’t safe.”
