The air smelled like smoke before she saw the flames.
Pearl sat curled up in her blanket fort—three pillows, a flashlight, and a worn-out book about secret gardens and girls who found magic in broken places.
It was quiet. Too quiet.
Downstairs, the grown-ups had been fighting again. She'd heard her mother's voice sharp with panic. Her father's words low, tight, like he was hiding something.
Then—nothing.
Until now.
The crackle.
The heat.
She pushed the blanket off and peeked out the window. A faint orange glow licked the edges of the backyard.
"Mom?"Her voice was soft. Too soft to carry.
She climbed out of bed, feet bare on the cool wooden floor, and padded toward the hallway—
And stopped.
The stairs were already swallowed in black smoke.
"Mom?!" louder now. "Dad?!"
Nothing.
Her throat tightened. She turned to run—toward the fire escape, the one her dad made her practice during "safety drills." But something flickered in the corner of her vision.
Movement.
Outside the window.
A figure.
Standing by the tree line. Just watching.
Tall. Still. Face hidden by the night.
Pearl's breath caught. She pressed her hand to the glass—confused, scared.
And then the figure did something strange.
He lifted a phone.
Snapped a picture.
Then turned and disappeared into the woods.
A few seconds later, the window shattered from the heat behind her, and all she could do was scream—
Before hands wrapped around her and dragged her out of the smoke.
Neighbors, later. Sirens. Her mother gone. Her father… distant.
But she never forgot the boy at the tree line