Chapter Thirty-one – Holt
The call comes just as the light starts to shift.
That strange in-between hour where the day hasn’t fully let go, but night is already pressing in at the edges.
The sky hangs heavy, bruised from the earlier storm, the air thick with that same charged stillness that never quite settles after something has already gone wrong once.
I’m halfway through rinsing soot from my hands at the kitchen sink when my phone vibrates against the counter.
Hadley.
My stomach drops before I even answer.
“Holt—”
Her voice isn’t loud. It isn’t frantic. It’s controlled in a way that sends a sharp wave of unease through me immediately, because Hadley only sounds like that when she’s forcing herself to stay steady. “What happened?”
“There’s a fire.”
The words land heavy and immediate, pulling every thought into a single, sharp line.
“Where?”
“The barn. Your barn.”
Everything in me locks.
“When?”
“Just now. Lark’s…”
She doesn’t finish, she doesn’t need to, because the second she says Lark’s name, the rest fills in on its own.
I’m moving before the call ends, grabbing my keys, shoving out the door without bothering to shut it behind me. The truck engine roars to life beneath my hands, gravel spitting out behind me as I pull onto the drive harder than I should.
The world narrows as I drive. Every instinct sharpened down to one thing: get there.
The sky darkens faster than it should, clouds pulling low and heavy again, the air thick with the promise of another storm. The road blurs past in streaks of gray and green, the familiar stretch of Otter Creek land suddenly feeling too long, too wide, too exposed.
Then I see it. Smoke, thick this time. Rolling upward in heavy waves that don’t break apart like they did before.
This isn’t a flare.
This isn’t a warning.
This is a fire meant to take.
I don’t remember stopping the truck. One second I’m behind the wheel, the next I’m out of it, boots hitting the ground hard enough to jar through my spine as I run.
The barn is already lit from the inside, flames pushing through the open slats, curling along the edges of the structure like something alive. Heat presses outward, even from a distance, distorting the air, bending the space between me and the door.
Hadley is there, near the edge of the yard, her face pale beneath the flickering orange glow. Mom and Dad stand with a bunch of ranch hands, all eyes trained toward the building.
“Holt, don’t—”
“Where is she?”
Her grip catches my arm for half a second, fingers digging in just enough to try to anchor me.
“She went in after Rook.”
Not her. Not like this…
The answer sinks in my gut with a mix of frustration and something deeper, something tighter, because it isn’t a surprise. Lark doesn’t hesitate when something matters. She doesn’t weigh risk the way she probably should. She moves forward, always forward, even when everything around her says stop.
I don’t argue. I don’t think. I shove past her. The heat hits the second I cross the threshold.
It wraps around me, pressing in from every direction, turning the air into something heavier than it should be. Smoke curls low across the ground, stinging my eyes, burning the back of my throat with every breath.
The fire has already taken hold, not like before. This time it’s faster. Hungrier. Fed by dry hay and old wood and something deliberate underneath it all.
“Lark!”
My voice cuts through the noise, rough and too loud in my own ears, but I don’t care.
For a second, there’s nothing. Just the crack of burning beams and the low roar of flames climbing higher than they should. Then I notice movement near the far stall. She turns at the sound of my voice, her face streaked with soot, hair damp and clinging to her neck, eyes wide but focused.
“I’ve got him!”
Rook barks wildly at her side, pacing tight, frantic circles around her legs. And then—another sound.
Laughter.
Soft.
Wrong.
Every muscle in my body locks.
Lark hears it too because her entire expression changes, eyes snapping past me toward the back of the barn. Toward the loft stairs.
Kenzie stands halfway up them, rainwater dripping from the hood of her sweatshirt, flames reflecting wildly across her face.
She’s smiling.
My blood turns cold.
“There you are,” she says softly.
Lark goes still beside me. Not frozen. Focused. Like prey finally seeing exactly what’s been hunting it.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snap.
Kenzie tilts her head slightly, almost thoughtful. “I wanted him to see.”
Smoke curls thicker through the barn. The fire crackles harder behind us, but she doesn’t seem to notice it, or care.
“You weren’t supposed to keep staying,” she says to Lark now, voice tightening. “You were supposed to leave.”
Lark’s hand tightens around Rook’s collar.
“You set the inn fire.”
Kenzie laughs softly again.
“You made him forget me.”
The words hit like a punch.
Obsessed.
Delusional.
Dangerous.
“Holt,” Lark says quietly beside me.
Not in a panic but in a warning, because Kenzie is moving now. Slowly descending the stairs.
“You weren’t supposed to matter this much,” she says, staring directly at Lark. “But then he looked at you like…” Her expression twists violently. “Like you were special.”
“Kenzie,” I say sharply, stepping fully in front of Lark now. “Stop.”
For the first time, her gaze flicks fully to me. And somehow—that’s worse.
“You left me,” she says.
The fire surges loudly behind her, flames climbing the far wall.
“I told you it wasn’t serious.”
“You lied.”
“I was honest from the beginning.”
“No.” Her voice cracks suddenly. “No, you just replaced me.”
The heat spikes harder. Smoke thickens. The barn groans overhead. Lark grips my arm suddenly.
“Holt.”
I smell gasoline now, and my stomach drops.
Kenzie smiles again.
“I wanted her to see what it felt like.”
The loft above us cracks loudly. Flames burst higher behind her. This entire place is seconds from collapse.
“Enough,” I snap, moving forward.
Kenzie jerks backward instantly, startled by the force in my voice. Then—sirens.
Close.
Her expression fractures completely.
“No.”
Red and blue lights flash faintly through the smoke outside.
“You called them?” she breathes.
“I called everyone,” Hadley yells from somewhere outside the barn.
Kenzie panics. Actually panics. She turns toward the back exit— just as part of the loft collapses between us in an explosion of sparks and flaming wood.
Lark cries out beside me. I throw an arm around her instinctively, dragging her backward as heat slams into us.
By the time the debris settles, Kenzie is gone. But I know she isn’t far.
Deputies appear at the back opening seconds later, shouting commands, and then a scream. Sharp. Violent.
“GET OFF ME!”
I catch one final glimpse through the smoke. Kenzie thrashes wildly in the mud outside as two deputies force her to the ground. Still screaming. Still staring directly at us. At Lark.
“You took everything!”
The words tear through the storm, then the deputy hauls her fully out of sight, and the barn finally gives another violent groan overhead.
“Holt!” Lark shouts.
Reality crashes back in.
The fire.
The collapse.
Escape.
I grab her hand.
“Move.”
The fire shifts. Something above us creaks under the strain.
“Get out,” I say, pushing forward.
“I can’t…the gate….”
Something’s blocking it. Something always blocks the easiest way out.
I close the distance between us quickly, grabbing her arm, grounding her in something solid even as the world around us breaks apart.
“Then we go another way.”
The fire surges, climbing higher along the back wall, licking up toward the loft. Heat presses harder, the air thinning, each breath sharper than the last.
“Stay close,” I say.
She nods once. No argument. That’s how I know she feels it too.
We move together, cutting toward the side exit instead of the main aisle, boots slipping slightly on the uneven ground. Rook darts ahead, then doubles back, unwilling to leave her completely, his movements erratic but purposeful.
Something cracks behind us. Loud and sharp.
“Holt—”
“Keep moving.”
The exit is closer now, just beyond a narrow gap between stacked equipment and a support beam that’s already starting to splinter under the heat.
The beam above the doorway groans. I hear it before I see it. Before it drops just enough to block part of the opening, sending sparks and debris down in a cascade of burning fragments.
Lark stops short. We’re trapped. The fire pushes closer as the heat spikes, pressing against my skin hard enough to sting.
The air thickens, and there’s no time left to think. I shove her forward with a hard push.
“Go!”
She stumbles, catching herself just as the gap opens wide enough between falling debris.
“I’m not leaving you—”
“You’re not. Move.”
She hesitates for half a second, then she goes. Rook bolts after her, slipping through the opening just as it starts to close again.
The beam shifts and drops. I’m alone as the pain hits fast.
White-hot and immediate as part of the beam slams down, catching my shoulder and driving me to one knee. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, leaving me disoriented just long enough for the fire to push closer.
The heat is unbearable now, pressing in from every direction, turning every breath into something sharp and burning.
“Holt!”
Her voice cuts through it. Alive. That’s all that matters.
I force myself up, ignoring the way my shoulder protests, the tearing sensation that tells me something isn’t right. My jacket is caught beneath the beam, pinned against the floor.
I wrench free, the fabric tearing with a sharp rip that barely registers over everything else.
The fire surges again, and I don’t hesitate. I run.
The exit is narrower now, but still open enough to force through. The heat follows, chasing me out into the open air in a rush that feels like stepping through a wall.
Cold hits immediately. I barely make it two steps before Lark is there, her hands grabbing onto me, pulling, grounding, checking all at once.
“You idiot,” she breathes, her voice shaking in a way that hits somewhere deeper than the fire ever could.
I let out a rough breath that might be a laugh if it didn’t hurt to do it.
“Yeah.”
Her hands move quickly, scanning, assessing, her touch urgent and unsteady all at once.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” she says sarcastically.
I glance down. My shoulder burns, the fabric torn, skin already angry beneath it.
Behind us, the barn continues to burn, flames climbing higher, spreading faster than anything we can contain now. The structure creaks under the strain, wood giving way in sharp cracks that echo across the yard.
Sirens cut through the distance—my team.
The yard fills quickly after that—lights flashing, voices overlapping, the controlled chaos of people who know what they’re doing moving into place. Mac is out of the truck before it fully stops, already shouting orders, already assessing the spread of the fire with a practiced eye.
His gaze finds me briefly, takes in the damage, then moves on. There’s no time for anything else.
Water hits the flames in heavy bursts, steam rising as it fights against the heat. The fire resists at first, pushing back, but it eventually gives under pressure.
Voices rise at the edge of the yard. I turn slightly, ignoring the protest in my shoulder.
Nolan stands near the edge of the scene, his expression tight, the weight of attention already settling on him in a way that feels inevitable. Too close. Too present. Like he didn’t just arrive. Like he’s been here longer than he should’ve been. My suspicions swirl at his opportunity.
Hadley steps in front of him without hesitation, her posture rigid, her voice cutting through the noise with a sharpness that stops more than one person mid-sentence.
“It wasn’t him. Take out your frustration on someone else.”
The certainty in her tone is absolute because Hadley doesn’t defend something unless she believes it.
Later, when the fire is finally contained and the barn is nothing more than a smoldering skeleton of what it once was, the adrenaline starts to fade. Pain builds where it didn’t exist before. Exhaustion follows close behind.
I stand at the edge of the wreckage, the air still thick with smoke, the ground damp beneath my boots where water soaked through ash and debris.
Lark steps up beside me. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of her without looking.
I’ve been in burning buildings that felt safer than standing this close to Lark and not touching her. Her hand finds mine without hesitation.
“This isn’t over,” she says quietly.
Everything worth anything is complicated.
I look at the remains of the barn.
“No,” I say.
This wasn’t a warning. This wasn’t a test.
I tighten my grip on Lark’s hand just slightly, grounding myself in something real, something solid, something that didn’t burn.
Whatever comes next—we’re not backing down. Not now. Not after this. Not after everything she just tried to take.