“Stand back,” Raylan grunts.

He kicks through the glass with the toe of his boot, then reaches up through the hole to unlock the door.

Smoke billows out in our faces. Even a floor down, the heat and smoke and noise are intense. It radiates down from my apartment above. I can see the ceiling sagging.

“Hurry,” Raylan says. “That could collapse any second.”

We run through the apartment, which is the exact same layout as mine above. We shove through the door into the hallway, where I can finally hear the steady blare of the fire alarm. Several other residents are stumbling down the halls, trying to carry out reluctant pets, or belongings they don’t want to risk losing.

“Don’t take the elevator,” Raylan tells me unnecessarily. There’s no way I was going to risk trapping myself anywhere else.

We run to the stairs instead, my bare feet soon filthy from the endless descent down twenty-seven flights of concrete steps.

The stairs are choked with other tenants. The descent is tediously slow. Some of the people from lower floors are complaining, thinking the whole thing was only a drill. That is, until they see Raylan and me, black with smoke and Raylan burned down his right arm from forcing my balcony doors closed.

Everything I own is burning up, over my head. Should I have tried to grab something before we ran out to the balcony? Stupidly, I think of my brand-new electric toothbrush that I only used twice. Now it’s melted plastic. Or maybe just ash.

I think I’m in shock.

I feel numb. My head is a balloon, floating above my shoulders, barely tethered.

If it weren’t for Raylan’s arm around my shoulders, leading me on, I think I might pass out.

Raylan takes me all the way down to the parking garage. He pulls the car keys out of his boot. That impresses me. I don’t know how he had the presence of mind to grab them. I don’t know how he kept his calm through any of it.

I feel like I’m barely clinging to my last shred of self-control.

“How did that happen?” I croak, my throat still raw with smoke. “How did the fire spread so fast?”

“I think he must have poured an accelerant under your door,” Raylan says, grimly. “I woke up to this whooshing sound, and in two seconds that whole half of your apartment was on fire.”

I can hear more and more sirens wailing on street level—fire trucks and police cars, coming to the building from all sides.

“We need to get out of here,” Raylan says. “We’re exposed. That might not be all he had planned.”

I nod, numbly, and climb into the passenger seat.

Raylan does a sweep of the vehicle to make sure there’s nothing planted inside or underneath. Then he gets in the driver’s side and starts the engine.

My head is still throbbing from the smoke. I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.