Page 163 of At First Spark
Then I see it. Smoke, thick this time. Rolling upward in heavy waves that don’t break apart like they did before.
This isn’t a flare.
This isn’t a warning.
This is a fire meant to take.
I don’t remember stopping the truck. One second I’m behind the wheel, the next I’m out of it, boots hitting the ground hard enough to jar through my spine as I run.
The barn is already lit from the inside, flames pushing through the open slats, curling along the edges of the structure like something alive. Heat presses outward, even from a distance, distorting the air, bending the space between me and the door.
Hadley is there, near the edge of the yard, her face pale beneath the flickering orange glow. Mom and Dad stand with a bunch of ranch hands, all eyes trained toward the building.
“Holt, don’t—”
“Where is she?”
Her grip catches my arm for half a second, fingers digging in just enough to try to anchor me.
“She went in after Rook.”
Not her. Not like this…
The answer sinks in my gut with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something tighter, because it isn’t a surprise. Lark doesn’t hesitate when something matters. She doesn’t weigh risk the way she probably should. She moves forward, always forward, even when everything around her says stop.
I don’t argue. I don’t think. I shove past her. The heat hits the second I cross the threshold.
It wraps around me, pressing in from every direction, turning the air into something heavier than it should be. Smoke curls low across the ground, stinging my eyes, burning the back of my throat with every breath.
The fire has already taken hold, not like before. This time it’s faster. Hungrier. Fed by dry hay and old wood and something deliberate underneath it all.
“Lark!”
My voice cuts through the noise, rough and too loud in my own ears, but I don’t care.
For a second, there’s nothing. Just the crack of burning beams and the low roar of flames climbing higher than they should. Then I notice movement near the far stall. She turns at the sound of my voice, her face streaked with soot, hair damp and clinging to her neck, eyes wide but focused.
“I’ve got him!”
Rook barks wildly at her side, pacing tight, frantic circles around her legs. And then—another sound.
Laughter.
Soft.
Wrong.
Every muscle in my body locks.
Lark hears it too because her entire expression changes, eyes snapping past me toward the back of the barn. Toward the loft stairs.
Kenzie stands halfway up them, rainwater dripping from the hood of her sweatshirt, flames reflecting wildly across her face.
She’s smiling.
My blood turns cold.
“There you are,” she says softly.
