Gasoline.
A part of me knew before I rounded the corner. The kind of knowing that didn’t come from logic or deduction, but instinct.
The Second Wind was on fire.
Flames licked up the side of the hull, hungry and bright, reflecting off the dark water in violent, distorted shapes. Smoke poured upward, thick and black, smearing the night sky.
“Madden!” The shout tore out of my chest. “Madden!”
No answer.
My heart slammed hard enough to make my vision tunnel. I scanned frantically—dock, water, neighboring boats—looking for her, for any sign she’d made it out.
Nothing.
A couple of people stumbled out of nearby boats, half-dressed, confused, drawn by the noise and the light.
“Call nine-one-one!” I yelled without slowing. “Now!”
Someone fumbled for a phone. Someone else swore.
I was already on the dock, sprinting, the heat rolling toward me in waves. I launched myself onto the Second Wind, and my boots hit the deck hard.
Brutal heat punched up through the soles, the planks hot enough that instinct screamed move before my brain finished catching up. Flames wrapped the exterior of the cabin, crawling fast and loud, chewing through anything they could take. The sound was enormous—roaring, crackling, a constant violent rush that swallowed everything else.
I went straight for the cabin door.
The handle didn’t move.
Not resistance. Not warped wood or swollen metal. Nothing at all.
I looked down and saw a bike chain looped through the handle and padlocked to the rail, the metal already blackened, the lock glowing dull and angry in the heat.
Someone had deliberately locked her inside.
Rage snapped through me, sharp and cold.
I reached automatically for the fire extinguisher bracket beside the door.
Empty.
Of course it was.
“Extinguisher!” I barked, turning my head and shoulders just enough to see the dock.
Something heavy came flying through the smoke a beat later. I braced and caught it against my chest. The impact knocked the air out of me as metal rang against bone. I ripped the pin free and squeezed the handle as I turned back.
White powder blasted out in a hard, forceful stream, knocking the flames down from the door and rail, buying me precious, narrow seconds. The heat eased just enough that my lungs stopped seizing.
I dropped the extinguisher and grabbed the metal boat hook from its bracket. I shoved the hook through the chain, planted my foot against the rail, and hauled sideways with everything I had. The lock shrieked, metal protesting, then failed with a sharp crack as the hasp snapped.
The chain fell away.
I yanked the door open.
The air inside punched out like a physical blow.
Heat and smoke blasted into my face, so dense it felt solid, the kind that stripped oxygen and turned every breath into a fight. The cabin wasn’t burning yet—it was baking, sealed tight, cooking from the outside in.
