Page 166 of At First Spark
“Stay close,” I say.
She nods once. No argument. That’s how I know she feels it too.
We move together, cutting toward the side exit instead of the main aisle, boots slipping slightly on the uneven ground. Rook darts ahead, then doubles back, unwilling to leave her completely, his movements erratic but purposeful.
Something cracks behind us. Loud and sharp.
“Holt—”
“Keep moving.”
The exit is closer now, just beyond a narrow gap between stacked equipment and a support beam that’s already starting to splinter under the heat.
The beam above the doorway groans. I hear it before I see it. Before it drops just enough to block part of the opening, sending sparks and debris down in a cascade of burning fragments.
Lark stops short. We’re trapped. The fire pushes closer as the heat spikes, pressing against my skin hard enough to sting.
The air thickens, and there’s no time left to think. I shove her forward with a hard push.
“Go!”
She stumbles, catching herself just as the gap opens wide enough between falling debris.
“I’m not leaving you—”
“You’re not. Move.”
She hesitates for half a second, then she goes. Rook bolts after her, slipping through the opening just as it starts to close again.
The beam shifts and drops. I’m alone as the pain hits fast.
White-hot and immediate as part of the beam slams down, catching my shoulder and driving me to one knee. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, leaving me disoriented just long enough for the fire to push closer.
The heat is unbearable now, pressing in from every direction, turning every breath into something sharp and burning.
“Holt!”
Her voice cuts through it. Alive. That’s all that matters.
I force myself up, ignoring the way my shoulder protests, the tearing sensation that tells me something isn’t right. My jacket is caught beneath the beam, pinned against the floor.
I wrench free, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip that barely registers over everything else.
The fire surges again, and I don’t hesitate. I run.
The exit is narrower now, but still open enough to force through. The heat follows, chasing me out into the open air in a rush that feels like stepping through a wall.
Cold hits immediately. I barely make it two steps before Lark is there, her hands grabbing onto me, pulling, grounding, checking all at once.
“You idiot,” she breathes, her voice shaking in a way that hits somewhere deeper than the fire ever could.
I let out a rough breath that might be a laugh if it didn’t hurt to do it.
“Yeah.”
Her hands move quickly, scanning, assessing, her touch urgent and unsteady all at once.
“You’re hurt.”
