“Elena!” Ethan cried out again.

His voice was weaker this time, choked by the gray smoke.

The sound of his cough tore me away from the glowing screen.

I could not think about the phone.

I could not think about the dead woman’s name flashing in the dark.

Ethan was trapped, and the fire was moving faster than the air could clear.

The line of flames between us crackled, feeding on the dry wooden floorboards.

I looked at the gap in the fire.

It was nearly four feet wide, a jagged line of orange heat and sparks.

The skin on my face felt tight and dry.

I took a deep breath of the hot, thin air through my apron.

I bent my knees.

I leaped.

My foot caught the edge of a burning board as I went over.

I landed hard on the polished floor on the other side, skidding on my hands and knees.

A sharp pain shot through my left wrist.

I ignored it and immediately patted down the hem of my dress.

A small spark had landed on the fabric, but I smothered it with my bare hands.