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The flames roared louder, as if mocking her plea. Smoke filled her lungs, and she coughed violently, her knees threatening to buckle. She pressed Maisie closer, shielding the girl as much as she could from the heat and smoke.

This can’t be the end. It can’t?she thought as her mind raced with memories-of Killian’s rare smiles, of Fiona’s teasing, of Maisie’s laughter.

She couldn’t let it all end here, not like this.

“Hang on, Maisie,” Yvette said, her voice breaking as she clutched the child tighter.

But each passing second without an escape route drove a dagger of fear deeper into her chest. She began to pray, her lips moving silently as tears streamed down her face.

“Please,” she whispered again, her voice cracking. “Save her. Save Maisie.”

The intoxicating scent of smoke filled Killian’s nostrils as he rode back toward Oakbourne townhouse. At first, he dismissed the strange flurry of activity, the way people darted in one direction with panic etched on their faces. He was focused on his ride home, the steady beat of hooves against the cobblestone streets easing a little of the anger that had consumed him at the gentlemen’s club.

Oh, if he could get his hands on Hilfern.

But then, as he neared the last bend leading to his townhouse, his chest tightened. The faint smell grew stronger, and when the townhouse came into view, Killian froze atop his horse.

Flames danced against the night sky, violent shades of red and blue licking the walls of his home. Smoke billowed into the air, creating a haze that blocked the moonlight. His stomach twisted, the blood draining from his face.

“Dear God,” he whispered, his voice raw.

Spurring his horse forward with a sharp kick, Killian raced toward the inferno. His heart pounded with dread, the noise of the chaos around him muted by the overwhelming roar of the flames.

As he dismounted in one fluid motion, he saw his staff scattered about, most of them in their nightclothes. Some were clutching one another, their faces pale, while others frantically shouted instructions or carried buckets of water. The futility of their efforts was evident—the fire was too strong.

Killian’s eyes darted among the crowd, searching desperately for familiar faces. A lump formed in his throat when Fiona suddenly appeared before him, her face streaked with tears.

“Brother!” she cried, her voice breaking.

Killian grabbed her shoulders, shaking her gently.

“Fiona, what is it? What happened?” His voice was low, strained.

Fiona could only sob harder, her trembling finger pointing toward the burning house.

“What are you saying?” he demanded, his voice rising. He looked past her, scanning the frightened crowd again. That was when the realization hit him with crushing force. He hadn’t seen Yvette. Or Maisie.

His blood ran cold.

“Where are Yvette and Maisie?” His voice was sharp now, laced with fear as he turned Fiona toward him.

Fiona’s sobs grew louder. She tried to form words, but the sound died in her throat. Instead, she gestured frantically toward the house again.

“No,” Killian breathed, shaking his head as though denying her silence would change the truth.

Edward appeared at his side, his face pale as his eyes darted between Killian and Fiona, trying to understand the situation.

Killian felt his chest constrict as Mrs. Harrow approached, her face stricken, her voice trembling with terror.

“Your Grace,” she said, choking on her words. “Her Grace and Lady Maisie…they’re still inside. It seems they’ve been trapped in the furnace.”

He let her words hit him like a physical blow, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. The roar of the flames faded into silence. The voices of the staff, the shouts of the townsfolk—it all blurred into nothingness.

“Trapped?” he whispered, the word barely audible.

Mrs. Harrow nodded, tears brimming in her eyes.

Killian’s body stiffened, and for a fleeting moment, he couldn’t move. His limbs felt heavy, his chest ached, and his mind reeled.