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“Exactly.” He shakes his head. “My point stands.”

I push open the storage room door. The familiar scent of kibble, disinfectant, and cedar shavings greets me. For years, this place has been my whole world. Even now, with my life split between the shelter and the Agapov mansion, walking through these halls still feels like coming home.

That's why the faint smell that reaches me a moment later makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I stop in the doorway and draw in another breath.

Smoke.

It's faint enough that I nearly convince myself I'm imagining it.

Jules notices me standing in the doorway and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

I turn slowly toward the hallway. “Do you smell that?”

He lifts his head and sniffs the air. Then his forehead furrows. “Maybe somebody burned popcorn again?”

I stare toward the kennel wing as a knot forms low in my stomach. “No,” I whisper. “That ain't popcorn.”

Jules takes one look at me and sets the cleaning supplies on the floor.

“Stay here,” he says, already moving.

As if I'm actually going to do that. I follow so closely I nearly step on the backs of his sneakers.

The scent grows stronger with every step we take down the hallway. By the time we reach the intersection leading toward the medical isolation area, thin gray ribbons of smoke snake across the ceiling.

Dread slams into me.

“Oh God.” Jules swears under his breath and breaks into a run.

We round the corner and stop. Smoke pours from beneath the door leading into the recovery wing. For one impossible moment, my brain rejects the sight entirely. This is our shelter. Our safe place. Things like this aren't supposed to happen here.

Then instinct takes over.

“Sarah!” I yell, spinning toward the front offices. “Get everybody out and call 911! Now!”

Panic tears through the building almost at once. Volunteers pour out of offices and exam rooms while dogs erupt into frantic barking that bounces off every wall. Cats begin yowling from the adoption room, their cries blending with ringing phones, raised voices, and the shrill wail of the fire alarm as it finally kicks on overhead.

Questions fly from every direction.

“Maggie, what's happening?”

“Is it a fire?”

“What do we do?”

Jules claps his hands loudly. “Everybody listen!” he shouts. “Evacuation plan. Just like the drills. Carriers first. Leashes second. Move, people!”

The training we practice twice a year finally proves its worth. Volunteers scatter. Sarah grabs the emergency binder from the office while Emily races toward the cat room. Two college volunteers begin loading carriers onto rolling carts. Another begins opening the emergency supply cabinet near the entrance.

Alexei's security man appears at a dead run.

“Fire department's been called,” Sam says. “Additional security is on the way.”

“Help get animals out,” I tell him. “Every kennel. Nobody gets left behind.”

Sam gives a single nod before heading toward the main dog wing.

The smoke grows thicker with every passing minute. Gray haze clings to the ceiling and creeps steadily downward while the temperature inside the hallway begins to climb. Somewhere deeper inside the building, a loud crack echoes through the walls, followed by the unmistakable roar of fire finding fresh fuel.