Every conversation we’ve ever had.
Every piece of advice.
Every‘I love you, sweetheart,’and‘you’re my boy,’and‘make me proud.’
Ican’tlose her.
Iwon’tlose her.
The firefighter’s grip tightens on my arm. “Sir, I understand, but—”
Behind me, engines roar. Tires squeal. My brothers have arrived.
“Nitro!” Sin’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Brother, don’t—”
But I’m already moving.
I twist out of the firefighter’s grip, a move Ghost taught me years ago, and I sprint, full speed, directly at the building. Smoke billows out of the main entrance in thick, black clouds. The heat is overwhelming, like standing too close to a bonfire, but I don’t slow down.
“Nitro!” Ghost calls out. “Stop!”
Multiple sets of hands grab at me. My brothers are trying to hold me back. Sin grips my cut, Koa has my arm, and Bear is trying to block my path.
“Let mego!” I thrash, fighting them as if they’re my enemies instead of family. “She’s in there! Queenie is in there!LET GO!”
“You’ll die!” Koa’s face is right in front of mine, and I’ve never seen him look so scared. “Brother, you’ll die,” he reiterates.
“And she will if I do nothing!” The words tear out of me with every ounce of pain in my chest. Tears stream down my face, hot against my skin. “I don’t care if I die. She raised me. She’s all I have. I’m not letting her burn.”
“Nitro!”
I drive my elbow into Koa’s gut, not hard, but enough. He releases me with a grunt, and I’m free for half a second, and that’s all I need. I break through their circle and sprint the last few yards.
“Jesus, Nitro!” Sin screams.
I hit the entrance at full speed. The smoke swallows me instantly, thick and choking. My eyes burn, and I can’t see more than a foot in front of my face. The heat is worse than I had imagined. It’s not just hot, it’s alive. A living thing that sears my lungs with every breath. I pull my T-shirt up over my mouth and nose. It’s not much, but it’s something. My eyes water so badly I’m nearly blind, but I know this building. I’ve walked these halls a thousand times. I know every turn, every door, every step.
Second floor.
East wing.
Room 214.
The stairwell is ahead. I can barely see it through the smoke, but I know it’s there. I move on muscle memory, one hand on the wall to guide me. The wallpaper is hot to the touch, and I can hear the fire overhead, a roar like a living creature.
Something crashes behind me—a support beam, maybe, or part of the ceiling.
I don’t look back because I’m too scared that if I do, I’ll be terrified of what I will see.
The stairs are partially blocked by debris. I climb over it, splinters catching on my jeans, smoke filling my lungs despitethe shirt over my mouth. Each breath is agony. Each step is heavier than the last.
Keep moving. Don’t stop. Don’t think. Just move.
Second floor.
The hallway is a tunnel of hell. Fire crawls along the ceiling, spreading with terrifying speed. The carpeting is starting to smolder. I hear it crackling, see it curling at the edges. The smoke is even thicker up here, a solid black wall that makes breathing nearly impossible.
But I push forward.
