She looked up. Through the smoke and the flames, her eyes found mine.
I ran.
The door was locked. Reinforced. Halligan, once, twice, three times. The frame splintered. The locks gave way.
Through.
She was in my arms before I could think. Coughing, crying, hands fisting in my jacket.
"You came." Raw. Wrecked. "You actually came."
"Of course I came."
I checked her over. No burns. No visible injuries. Smoke inhalation. Tremor in her hands.
"Can you walk?"
"Yes."
"Then we move. Now."
Her fingers laced through mine.
We ran.
Shane had found an alternate route. Service corridor on the north side. Less fire damage. Floor still mostly solid.
We moved fast. Staying low. Brian bringing up the rear with his light sweeping for hazards.
Almost to the stairwell when I heard it.
A cry. Weak. To our left.
I stopped.
"Stone." Urgent. "We need to keep moving."
"Someone's in there."
"The building is coming down?—"
Another cry. And then a voice I recognized.
Sloane had heard it too. Face pale. Eyes wide.
"Go," I told Shane. "Get her out. I'll be right behind you."
"Garrett—" She grabbed my arm. "No."
"I have to." I pulled her hand off. Gently. "I promise."
She looked back at me as Shane pulled her away. Something desperate in her face. But she let him.
I turned toward the sound.
Corner office. Doorframe collapsed, a fallen beam trapping her from the waist down. Blood on her face. Smoke in her lungs.
She looked up. Something in her expression broke.
