“Livy!” I shout again. “I’m coming, sweetheart.”
I stop and listen.
Nothing.
The helmet muffles too much. The fire roars too loud. The house groans in pain.
Sound is useless in here, so I go back to touch.
Left hand on the wall.
Right hand sweeping low.
I hit the first doorframe and keep going, knowing Livy’s room is one more away.
I find it with my shoulder against the jamb and press the back of my gloved hand to the door.
Low first.
Then higher.
Hot, but not cooking.
Not enough to tell me if fire has the room, but enough to make my gut tighten.
I crouch lower and check the gap beneath the door.
Smoke seeps out in slow, dirty breaths.
No hard pull.
No angry pulse.
No fire licking through the cracks.
Good.
Her door holding might be the only reason she’s still alive.
If she’s even in there. Damn, I hope my gut didn’t fail me.
I turn my face away, keep my body low and out of the opening, then crack the door a few inches.
Smoke rolls over me from the hall, trying to push into the room.
I don’t give it much space.
No flash.
No roar.
No fire inside.
Just smoke.
I slip through the gap and pull the door mostly closed behind me.
Buy time.
