Desmond studied the inferno churning through the office, trying to find a path to the corner office. Most of the cubicles and desks were burning, and the fire was moving quickly. For a moment, he was back in Australia, at his childhood home, watching the blaze. Just like then, he gathered his courage as he prepared to wade into the flames.

But this time, a hand caught his shoulder.

Avery stood behind him. “Don’t, Desmond.” She grabbed his arm, pulled him, but he threw her off.

“Come with me or stay,” he said. “But don’t get in my way.”

Without another second’s hesitation, he raced into the fire.

Outside the building, the snow fell faster, sticking to the gravel courtyard. Peyton’s footsteps left a track of prints in ash-coated snow, a trail that led directly to the front door.

The heat of the fire was excruciating, but the asphyxiation was worse. Desmond held his breath as long as he could, then inhaled and coughed.

He was close to passing out when he reached the corner office. The blast had blown out the windows, and cool air rushed in, fueling the fire. Desmond inhaled for a few seconds, gathering his breath.

Ahead, he saw William lying under a steel filing cabinet, flailing about, looking for any means to work his way out from under it.

Desmond raced to him and gripped the steel cabinet. He was shocked when he heard steps behind him. Avery. She took hold of the filing cabinet as well, and together they pushed. The cabinet was not only heavy, it was buried under debris from the wall and ceiling. But it moved just enough for William to wriggle free. He stuffed a folder inside his body armor and tried to stand. One leg was fine, but he winced when the other touched the ground.

Desmond didn’t wait for discussion. He leaned forward, pressed himself against William’s abdomen, and lifted the man up onto his shoulder. Desmond estimated he weighed about 170 pounds, and Desmond’s body protested under the added strain; his ribs still hadn’t healed. But he pressed on, putting one foot in front of the other. Avery led the way, pushing desks and debris aside as they went.

Soon, Desmond let out the breath he had held, sucked in hard, got a mouth full of smoke, coughed, and stumbled—but he stayed upright. If he collapsed now, Avery would have to choose which one of them to drag from the flames.

He felt himself getting dizzy. His head swam, vision blurred. He was staggering. He felt Avery’s hand grip his arm, pulling him forward.

Spots appeared in his vision. He was only vaguely aware of walking now. Waves of nausea washed over him.