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M att turned his key in the lock and threw open the shelter’s front door. The familiar lobby looked alien in the flickering orange light, shadows dancing wildly across walls he’d walked past thousands of times.

The sound hit him next—terrified barking, yowling, and whimpering cut through him like a physical blow. Every animal in the building was awake and panicked, their cries echoing off the smoke-filled corridors.

Matt pulled his sweatshirt up over his nose and mouth, squinting through the smoke to orient himself. The fire was concentrated in the back of the building where the large dog kennels were housed, and where the wolfdog puppies slept.

There was no time to think. He had to get the animals out of the shelter.

He ran toward the cat rooms first. It was closest to the exit and housed the most vulnerable animals.

Five adult cats and a litter of kittens were there, and their carriers were stacked near the door for easy transport.

Matt grabbed two carriers at once, stuffing terrified cats inside with movements that were more urgent than gentle.

“It’s okay,” he croaked to a gray tabby who hissed as he lifted her. “I’ve got you.”

The smoke was getting thicker. Matt made two trips into the parking lot, leaving the crates as far away from the building as he dared.

His lungs burned with each breath, but he couldn’t stop.

The kittens went in last, their tiny mews barely audible over the roar of flames that was growing louder by the minute.

Next were the dogs in the front kennels. A beagle named Buddy, two terrier mixes, and an elderly golden retriever. Matt pulled them out, clipping leashes to their collars and urging them to his truck. As fast as he could, he tied their leads to the trailer hitch and raced back inside the shelter.

Each trip back into the building was harder than the last. The smoke was now so dense that it made it nearly impossible to see. Matt felt his way along the familiar walls, counting doorways and kennel gates by memory. His throat felt raw, and his eyes burned so badly he could barely keep them open.

The heat was intense as he reached the back corridor where the large kennels were housed. Flames licked along the ceiling, eating through electrical conduits and wooden support beams. In the farthest kennel, huddled together in terror, were the five wolfdog puppies.

Baker and Rainier were pressed against the kennel door, whimpering. Helena and Granite cowered in the back corner. And Star—tiny, fragile Star—was frozen in the center of the kennel, her golden eyes wide with fear, her body trembling so violently Matt could see it even through the smoke.

“Come on, babies,” Matt called, fumbling with the latch. His hands were shaking from adrenaline and smoke inhalation, making the simple mechanism seem impossibly complex. “We need to go. Now.”

Baker and Rainier bolted past him the moment the gate opened. Helena and Granite followed more reluctantly, but they followed. Star didn’t move.

Matt lunged forward and scooped up the paralyzed puppy, tucking her against his chest as he ran after her siblings. Behind him, he heard the ominous crack of timber beginning to fail.

The four larger puppies had scattered when they reached the lobby. Matt left Star in his truck and spent precious minutes herding her siblings, grabbing them one by one and loading them into the vehicle. His vision was starting to blur from smoke inhalation, and his legs felt unsteady.

But he couldn’t stop. Not yet.

There were still animals in the building. Mrs. Chen’s ancient cat, Whiskers, who’d been boarding while she visited her daughter. The rabbit that some kid had surrendered yesterday. An injured hawk that was recovering from a wing fracture.

Matt made two more trips, his movements becoming increasingly unsteady. The heat was overwhelming now, and the smoke was so thick he was navigating purely by touch. When he finally emerged with the last animal—Whiskers, who’d been hiding under a desk—his legs gave out.

He collapsed beside his truck, gasping for clean air, Whiskers clutched against his chest. The sirens were getting closer, but they were still too far away. Matt’s vision was darkening at the edges, and his chest felt like it was filled with broken glass.

With the last of his strength, he managed to get Whiskers into a cat carrier and secure it in the truck bed. The wolfdog puppies were whimpering in the cab, pressed together for comfort.

Matt fell to the ground and closed his eyes. The heat from the building was intense, even in the parking lot. Windows exploded, and somewhere in the distance, the fire trucks’ horns and sirens cut through the night air.

The last thing he remembered was the sound of heavy boots running across gravel and urgent voices calling his name. Then there was nothing.