“What’s going on?” I manage.
Jesse doesn’t answer right away. His gaze sweeps over me quickly, as if checking for tangible harm. “You okay? The kids?”
“I… I’m fine. They’re sleeping. What’s…?”
“The fire jumped again,” Wyatt says. “Wind shifted. It’s coming down toward the valley much faster than they expected.”
My stomach drops.
“The mayor’s been going door to door,” Jesse adds. “She hit the farms on the ridge first. She stopped by Willow on her way down. We argued with her for a while.”
“I did not argue,” Wyatt mutters.
“You negotiated,” Jesse says. “I argued.”
Marshall cuts in. “Point is, they’re telling folks in the immediate path to evacuate. Now.”
I stare at them.
Evacuate.
I knew it was bad. The smoke all day. The sirens. The glow on the horizon. Moving my bees to the far pasture with shaking hands, trying to pretend my chest wasn’t a tight, buzzing hive of panic.
But I hadn’t thought…
I hadn’t really let myself think it would get this far.
“I…” I look past them toward the sky.
Over the tops of the trees, the glow is brighter now. A deep, angry orange, pulsing with every gust of wind.
It smells sharper, as if the fire has crept closer, like the world is turning to charcoal.
“How… how much time do we have?” I ask quietly.
“Enough to leave safely,” Wyatt says. “Not enough to wait until morning.”
“You need to leave too,” Jesse says softly. “Tonight.”
My heart hammers so loud I can barely hear them. The house feels suddenly fragile around me, these old floorboards, these walls, this roof, all the memories soaked into them.
“I can’t just… leave,” I whisper. “What about my things? My… my grandmother’s journals? The photos? The?—”
“We’ll help you grab what you need,” Marshall says. “Essentials only. Clothes, documents, anything you can’t bear to lose if the worst happens.”
If the worst happens.
My knees feel weak. I grip the edge of the door to calm myself.
My gaze flicks toward the hallway. “The twins?”
Jesse is already moving. “I’ve got them.”
He slips past me, and a moment later, I hear sleepy protests along with the rustle of blankets.
Jesse reappears with one tucked against each shoulder, carrying them out into the dark toward the truck.
“What about the bees?” I ask Wyatt.
