Daisy, brave and stubborn and determined to help, because that’s what Abby raised her to be.
Aaron’s voice cuts in, calm but urgent. “We need to confirm location.”
The teacher Abby was speaking with steps forward, shaking. “It’s the east hallway. Near the art room. We thought everyone was out but one student said they saw a little girl go back for another child.”
My blood goes ice cold.
I don’t wait.
“Brendon,” Abby says, her voice small now, like she’s trying not to break. “Please.”
I meet her eyes. I take her face in my hands, right there in front of the whole school, because I need her to hear me.
“I’m bringing her out,” I say, voice low, steady. “I’m bringing her out.”
Abby’s lips part like she wants to speak but can’t.
I release her gently and turn toward the building.
Justin catches my arm. “You’re not going in alone.”
“I know,” I snap, then breathe. “I know.”
Kendrick is already beside us, mask on, eyes focused. “East hallway,” he says.
We go.
The inside is chaos in the way fire always is. Smoke has pushed low through the corridor, the air thick and hot, the alarm shrieking like an animal.
“Firefighters!” I shout. “If you can hear me, call out!”
A faint cough answers.
I follow it, moving low, scanning with my light.
My mind is screaming Abby’s name, Daisy’s name, every prayer I’ve ever pretended I didn’t believe in.
We reach the art room door. It’s warm to the touch.
“Here,” Kendrick says, voice muffled through his mask.
We force it open.
Smoke pours out like a wave.
Inside, the room is dim, shapes distorted, but my light catches movement near the far wall.
Two small figures.
One is Daisy. I know her instantly, daisy clip still in her hair, her face streaked with soot.
The other kid is older, sitting on the floor with one leg out awkwardly, clutching their knee, eyes wide and panicked.
Daisy is bent beside them, one arm around their shoulders, trying to haul them up.
“Daisy!” I shout.
She turns her head, and even through the mask I see the relief flood her face. “Brendon!”
