I stepped under the spray and let the hot water work on my aching muscles. Closed my eyes and tried to relax for the first time all day.
That’s when I smelled it.
Smoke. Definitely smoke. And something burning.
“Shit.”
31
— • —
Malachar
The fire was spreading and I was fairly certain I was about to burn down my mate’s entire life.
I grabbed a kitchen towel and tried to smother the flames in the pan but the fabric caught fire immediately. Now I was holding a burning towel while the stove was also on fire and smoke was rapidly filling the apartment.
This was decidedly not going according to plan.
The chef had made cooking look so easy. Chop vegetables. Season meat. Apply heat. Simple. Except apparently there was a very important detail about not leaving things unattended that I had catastrophically failed to absorb.
I threw water at the flames because that seemed logical. Fire plus water equals no fire.
The fire hissed and grew larger.
Water was apparently the wrong choice. Why had no one mentioned this crucial information during my lessons? This seemed like vital knowledge that should have been covered in week one.
The flames were spreading across the counter now, licking at the wooden cabinets. The smoke was getting thicker. I could not let this expand or the entire bookstore downstairs would burn. Wen’s livelihood. Her life and her grandparent’s work. Everything this family had built for themselves.
I needed a bigger towel. A wet one. Something to contain this disaster I had created through my incompetence.
I was searching frantically through drawers when I heard her scream.
“Mal!”
I spun around and saw Wen running from the bathroom wrapped only in a towel. Her hair was dripping wet. Her feet were bare. She hit a wet patch on the floor where I had spilled water and started to slip.
I caught her before she hit the ground. Pulled her against my chest while the kitchen burned behind me and smoke alarms started screaming.
“What the hell happened?” She was coughing from the smoke. Her eyes were streaming. She looked at the flames and her face went pale. “Oh my god, the kitchen is on fire! How did you set the kitchen on fire?”
“I was attempting to cook dinner.” My voice came out strangled. “It went poorly.”
Panic crashed through me harder than any physical blow. She was here in danger because of me. Because I had wanted to prove I could take care of her and instead had nearly killed us both.
I tightened my grip and ran for the stairs. Took them two at a time while she protested and grabbed at my shoulders.
“What are you doing? Put me down!”
“Keeping you safe. That is my foremost priority.”
“The fire, Mal! The apartment!”
“You are more important than the apartment.”
I set her down by the front door of the bookstore and immediately turned to run back upstairs. I had to fix this. Had to contain the damage before it spread.
“Mal, no!” Her fear hit me through the bond, sharp and terrified and painful. “Come back here right now!”
