Page 104 of Playing with Fire

"That's an order, Astrada," Dawson's voice cut me off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "The structure is compromised. We've got multiple secondary explosions. This place is coming down, and we are not losing anyone else today."

I stood frozen, the comm unit clutched in my hand, the mill burning before me. An order I couldn't obey. A promise I couldn't keep. My body vibrated with adrenaline, sweat and rain mingling on my skin as the heat of the approaching fire dried it almost instantly. I could taste ash on my tongue, bitter and acrid. A preview of what waited inside.

The rain finally broke overhead, fat drops striking my face as lightning flashed across the sky. I tilted my head back, letting the water cool my overheated skin for a moment. Steam rose from my tactical gear as raindrops hit fabric already warmed by the approaching inferno, the sensation oddly baptismal. Nature's drama unfolding alongside our human tragedy, indifferent to our suffering.

I scanned the burning building, mind racing through structural analysis, potential entry points, survival probabilities. A cold, analytical part of me, the part Xavier had nurtured without realizing it, calculated odds and trajectories with machine-like skill. My Army training merged with the desperate need to reach Xavier, creating a clarity I'd rarely experienced. Time seemed to slow, each second expanding to contain volumes of calculation and decision.

"I'm sorry," I said into the comm, knowing Reid could hear me. Knowing what my next actions would cost. My voice had changed, hardened into something that would have surprised anyone who knew only the gentle, accommodating Leo I showed the world. "I can't leave him in there."

"Astrada, don't you dare."

I switched off the comm unit, cutting off Reid's protest. My thumb lingered on the button, a momentary hesitation. The last thread of rationality trying to assert itself. They would try to stop me if they could. Would follow protocols designed to minimize casualties rather than save a single life. It was the rational choice. The correct choice, from a tactical perspective.

But I wasn't operating from tactics anymore. This was something older. Something more primal. Something that had driven humans to walk through fire since the first caves. The absolute certainty that the person on the other side was worth burning for. I would rather die at Xavier's side than live knowing I'd abandoned him to face his death alone.

In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.The sign of the cross came automatically, muscle memory from years at my abuela's knee. Not a plea for salvation. I'd made my choice and accepted whatever damnation might come with it. But an acknowledgment of the sacrifice I was willing to make.

The scanner in my hand showed what the others hadn't noticed yet. A service entrance on the west side of the building, partially obscured by collapsed scaffolding. The thermal readings suggested lower temperatures in that section, the fire not yet having reached its full intensity there.

A way in. A way to Xavier. A path to salvation or damnation. I no longer cared which.

I moved without conscious thought, feet carrying me toward that possible entry point even as the rational part of my brain screamed warnings about structural collapse, oxygen deprivation, and burn injuries. I was vaguely aware of shouting behind me. Dawson or Reid, ordering me to stop. My body thrummed with a strange energy, every nerve firing simultaneously, heart pounding in a rhythm that seemed to echo Xavier's name with each beat.

I didn't stop.

The heat intensified as I approached the building, a physical presence pushing against me like a wall. Sweat soaked through my tactical gear, steam rising from my sleeves as raindrops hit the super-heated air surrounding me.

The service entrance loomed ahead, half-hidden behind fallen metal panels. Smoke poured from cracks around its frame, suggesting the fire was spreading in that direction even now. I had minutes at most before this route would be cut off as well.

My hand reached for the door handle, then jerked back as the metal seared my palm even through my glove. Pain lanced up my arm, sharp and clarifying.

This was madness. Suicide. The building was a death trap, specifically designed to kill anyone inside.

I pressed my burnt hand against my chest, the pain a counterpoint to the fear and determination warring within me. What was I doing? I had no special training for fire rescue. No equipment beyond basic tactical gear. Nothing that gave me any realistic chance of finding Xavier alive in that inferno, let alone getting him out.

The sound of another explosion from inside the building made the decision for me. I grabbed a piece of fallen metal sheeting, using it as a barrier between my hand and the scorching door handle.

I'm coming, Xavier.The thought crystallized into absolute certainty as I wrenched the door open.Even if it means burning beside you.

Heat and smoke billowed out, momentarily blinding me. I dropped to a crouch, seeking the marginally cleaner air near the floor. The doorway framed a corridor of fire and smoke, a passage straight into hell.

I pulled the tactical mask from my belt, securing it over my face to filter at least some of the toxic fumes. The oxygen supply was minimal—enough for perhaps ten minutes of steady breathing. After that, I'd be at the mercy of whatever air remained inside.

Behind me, I could hear Reid shouting orders, organizing his team for what they must now see as a recovery operation rather than a rescue. I blocked out their voices, focusing entirely on what waited ahead.

With one final glance at the night sky beyond—at the world I might never see again—I stepped through the doorway and into the burning mill.

The door swung shut behind me with the finality of a tomb sealing closed.

But Xavier was here. Somewhere in this hell of flame and smoke and groaning metal.

And I was going to find him or die trying.

Felix'seyeswidenedslightlyat the sight of my gun, his expression flickering between surprise and something darker—a twisted satisfaction that made my blood run cold.

"So the vigilante's armed after all," he remarked, smoke curling around his words. "I thought you might break that rule."

The weight of the weapon felt like an extension of my arm, my finger steady against the trigger. Around us, the mill continued its metamorphosis from building to inferno. Support beams groaned overhead, metal expanding and contracting in the extreme heat. Every surface shimmered with heat distortion, blurring the edges of reality.

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