Chapter 2 - Lewis
I watch her face as she takes my hand, noting how her eyes widen slightly at my promise.
"I'm Chloe," she says, her voice steadier than I'd expect from someone trapped in a burning building. She's tougher than she looks.
The flames are growing higher around us, feeding on the old wood and what smells like fresh paint. The heat is intense, pressing against us like a living thing. I need to think fast.
"We need to move away from the main area," I tell her, scanning the room for options. "Is there a back room? Somewhere with fewer flammable materials?"
She nods, pointing toward a doorway on the far side. "My office is back there. It's mostly empty except for some boxes."
I guide her in that direction, keeping my body between her and the worst of the flames. The smoke is getting thicker, hanging heavy near the ceiling. I pull off my jacket and hold it out to her.
"Cover your mouth and nose with this," I say. "Stay low."
She takes it without question, pressing the fabric to her face as we crouch and move toward the office. I can't help noticing how the ash has settled in her dark hair, how her curves fill out her dusty jeans and t-shirt. Even covered in soot, she's beautiful in a way that catches me off guard.
But I need to lock in. Not the time for distractions.
Once we're in the smaller room, I close the door behind us, buying us a little time. There's a window here, but it's covered with security bars—no exit that way. The room is sparse: a few cardboard boxes, a folding table, and what looks like a brand-new desk chair still in its packaging.
"We should be okay in here for a bit," I tell her, trying to sound more confident than I feel. The truth is, we're in trouble. The main exit is blocked, and my team—
Shit. My team.
I haven't told her yet that they're currently dealing with a warehouse fire on the other side of town. I got the call on my radio just before I spotted the smoke coming from this building and decided to check it out on my own. They'll come as soon as they can, but it could be a while.
She must see something in my expression because her eyes narrow.
"What aren't you telling me?"
I take a deep breath, which is a mistake in the smoky air. After a fit of coughing, I meet her gaze directly. "My team is handling another fire across town. They've been notified, but it might be a while before they can get here."
To my surprise, she doesn't panic. Instead, she nods once, processing the information. "So we're on our own. What do we do?"
"We stay calm, we conserve oxygen, and we look for another way out," I say, admiring her composure. "These old buildings sometimes have access points to neighboring structures. Is there anything like that you know of?"
She shakes her head. "I just started leasing this place yesterday. I barely know where the fuse box is."
I scan the room again, noting how the smoke is starting to seep under the door.
We don't have much time before this room becomes as dangerous as the one we left.
Chloe is watching me, her eyes trusting despite the situation.
Something about her quiets the usual chaotic thoughts that race through my head. I need to be methodical. For her.
"Tell me about the building," I say, moving to check the walls for any signs of alternative exits. "Anything you've noticed, any quirks or features."
"It's old," she says, following my lead and examining the opposite wall. "The woman upstairs—Mabel—said the wiring was ancient. That's probably what started the fire."
I nod. "Electrical fires spread fast in old buildings like this."
As if to emphasize my point, there's a crash from the outer room—something large collapsing. Chloe jumps, and I instinctively move closer to her. She's trembling now, the reality of our situation finally setting in.
"Hey," I say softly, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Look at me."
Her eyes meet mine, wide and dark with fear.
"We're going to be okay," I tell her. "I've been in worse situations than this. Way worse."
"Really?" she asks, skepticism breaking through her fear.
I nod, offering a small smile. "I once had to rescue a three-hundred-pound man who got stuck in his bathtub during a house fire. Naked. This is definitely better than that."
A surprised laugh escapes her, just as I'd hoped. The tension in her shoulders eases slightly under my hands.
"There we go," I say. "That's better. Panic uses up oxygen, and we need to stay clearheaded."
She takes a deliberate breath, steadying herself. "Okay. So what's the plan?"
Before I can answer, there's another crash, louder this time, and the door to our sanctuary shudders. Smoke pours in more aggressively from beneath it.
"The floor," I say suddenly, dropping to my knees. "These old buildings sometimes have access to basement areas through the floors. Help me look."
We move quickly, pushing aside boxes and feeling along the wooden floorboards. The smoke is getting thicker now, making it hard to see and breathe. Chloe is coughing more frequently, and I can feel my own lungs starting to burn.
"Here!" she calls suddenly. "This board feels different."
I move to where she's kneeling, running my hands over the section of floor she's indicated. She's right—there's a subtle difference in how these boards are set. I pull out my pocket knife and work it into the seam between two planks.
"Stand back," I warn her, then use all my strength to pry upward.
The board comes loose with a crack, and then another. But beneath isn't what I'd hoped for—just more solid flooring, a second layer installed over the original. I stifle a curse.
"No good," I say, sitting back on my heels. The disappointment on her face is crushing.
Sweat is streaming down both our faces now, partly from exertion but mostly from the rising heat. The fire is getting closer; I can hear it consuming the outer room, and our temporary haven won't last much longer.
"Let's try the window," Chloe suggests, moving toward it. "Maybe we can break the glass and call for help."
I follow her, examining the security bars. They're solidly installed, but the frame holding them to the wall looks older, possibly weakened over time.
"Good thinking," I tell her. "If we can loosen those bars, we might be able to get out this way."
We both grab hold of the bars and pull, straining against decades of rust and solid construction. They give slightly, but not enough.
"Again," I say, and we pull harder. This time I feel something shift.
Just as hope begins to rise, there's a splintering crack from above. We both look up to see the ceiling bulging downward, the weight of the fire finally compromising the structure.
"Move!" I shout, grabbing Chloe and pulling her away from the window just as a section of ceiling crashes down where we'd been standing.
The impact sends up a cloud of dust and embers. When it clears, I see that our situation has worsened—the window is now completely blocked by debris, and flames are visible through the new hole in the ceiling.
"We need to get lower to the ground," I tell her, pulling her toward the far corner where the air is still relatively clear. "Try to breathe slowly."
We huddle together, her body pressed against mine as we make ourselves as small as possible. The smoke is thickening, making each breath a struggle. I tear a strip from my t-shirt and dampen it with water from a bottle I find in one of her boxes, then press it to her mouth.
"Breathe through this," I instruct. "It'll help filter the smoke."
She takes it, her fingers brushing mine. Even in this dire situation, I notice how soft her hands are and how they contrast with my calloused ones.
"I'm sorry," she says suddenly, her voice muffled by the cloth. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't been so stubborn about cleaning the place myself..."
"Hey, none of that," I cut her off gently. "This isn't anyone's fault. Old wiring fails. It happens."
She shakes her head, unconvinced. "You shouldn't be here. You should have waited for your team."
"I saw smoke and someone who needed help," I say simply. "I'd do it again."
The room is getting hotter, the smoke thicker. We both know we're running out of time and options. My training tells me to stay put, conserve energy, and wait for rescue. But every instinct in my body is screaming to get this woman out safely.
"Tell me something about yourself," I say suddenly, needing to keep her alert and distracted from our increasing danger.
She looks at me like I've lost my mind, which is fair.
"Something random," I clarify. "Anything."
After a moment's hesitation, she says, "I moved here yesterday. From Chicago. I was going to open a law practice."
"Was?" I question, raising an eyebrow.
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "Am. I am going to open a law practice. Just maybe not in this exact location."
I find myself smiling back, admiring her spirit. "That's more like it. Cedar Falls needs a good lawyer."
"What about you?" she asks, then coughs harshly. "You're a firefighter, obviously. But why?"
It's a deeper question than she probably realizes, and one I haven't really answered even for myself. But looking at her now, smoke-smudged and brave, I find myself wanting to be honest.
"My brother," I admit. "He became a firefighter first. I followed him into it because... well, I was always following him. But then I found out I loved it. The rush, the chance to help people on their worst days."
She nods, understanding in her eyes. "Family can be complicated."
"You have siblings?" I ask, grateful for the conversation despite our circumstances. It's keeping us both calmer than we have any right to be.
"Only child," she says. Then, after a pause, "Part of why I left Chicago. Too many expectations, too little room to breathe."
I want to ask more, to understand what drove this beautiful, clearly intelligent woman to start over in a small town like Cedar Falls.
But a sudden crash from the outer room jolts us back to reality.
The door to our sanctuary gives way, flames licking into the room. The heat is immediate and overwhelming.
"Stay with me," I say, wrapping my arms around her as we press ourselves further into the corner. "My team will be here soon. We just need to hold on."
She nods against my chest, and I can feel her trembling. Or maybe that's me. It's getting harder to tell where my fear ends and hers begins.
"Lewis," she says, my name sounding different in her voice. "If we don't…"
"We will," I interrupt firmly. "We're going to get out of here, Chloe."
The conviction in my voice surprises even me. But looking at her, I know it's true. I refuse to accept any other outcome. The fire is now spreading across the ceiling, consuming our remaining safe space. The smoke is so thick I can barely make out her face just inches from mine.
In the distance, I finally hear it. Sirens. Help is coming. But the building is groaning around us, the structure weakening. I'm not sure if they'll reach us in time.
"Do you hear that?" I ask her, my voice rougher from the smoke. "The sirens? My team is coming."
She nods, hope flickering in her eyes. But we both know the fire is moving faster than any rescue team could.
In this moment, trapped with a stranger as the world burns around us, I make a silent promise: if we get out of here, I'm going to get to know Chloe properly. Take her to dinner, learn her story, find out what makes her laugh.
First, though, we have to survive.