The terror in my chest was a cold weight, but the anger was hotter.

I lunged forward across the dusty floor.

My boots slid slightly on the grit, but I kept my balance.

Beatrice saw me move and turned, her arm swinging down to drop the flame into the puddle.

I swung the rusted iron pipe with both hands.

The metal bar struck her wrist with a dull, heavy thud.

Beatrice cried out, her fingers opening in a spasm of pain.

The silver lighter flew from her hand, spinning through the air.

It landed on a dry patch of concrete, three feet away from the dark fuel.

The flame blew out as it hit the ground.

Beatrice lunged toward the lighter, her face twisted in desperation.

I threw my weight into her, tackling her shoulder-first.

We hit the hard floor together, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs.

The smell of mold and old soot pressed into my face.

Beatrice clawed at my eyes, her sharp fingernails scratching my cheek.

“You ruined everything!” she screamed, her breath hot and smelling of sour wine.