This time, my heart stutters for a different reason. It’s the station dispatcher line.
Aaron answers, listens for three seconds, and his face changes.
“School,” he says, already standing. “Alarm. Smoke reported.”
My blood turns cold.
Not because it’s a call.
Because Daisy goes to that school.
The drive there feels like it takes forever and no time at all.
Sirens cut through the winter air, bouncing off snowbanks, off the side of buildings, off the inside of my skull. I’m strapped in, gear on, brain cycling through worst-case scenarios faster than I can shut them down.
Aaron’s voice is calm in the cab. “We don’t know the extent yet. Stay focused.”
Focused. Right.
The elementary school comes into view, lights flashing against the pale afternoon, a thin line of smoke curling out from somewhere near the back wing.
My stomach drops.
Kids and teachers cluster outside near the playground, bundled in coats, some crying, some wide-eyed, a teacher counting heads with frantic urgency.
We jump out, boots hitting ice.
“Command,” Aaron calls, immediately moving toward the staff. Kendrick and Justin peel off to grab hoses and gear.
I scan the crowd, eyes searching, searching, searching.
Abby.
Daisy.
I see Abby near the front, hair pulled back, coat thrown on over whatever she was wearing inside. Her face is stark with fear, eyes wild as she talks to a teacher.
Then she turns, sees me, and for one second I see something in her expression that guts me.
Hope.
It’s quick, involuntary, like her body trusts me even when her mind doesn’t want to.
She runs toward me.
“Daisy,” she says, voice breaking. “They can’t find Daisy.”
The world narrows.
All sound drops away except the pounding of my heart.
“What do you mean they can’t find her?” I ask, my voice too sharp.
Abby’s hands grip my jacket. “They were evacuating and she was right behind her class and then someone said a kid fell and she—she must have gone back. She wouldn’t leave someone. She wouldn’t.”
My chest tightens so hard it hurts.
Of course she wouldn’t.
