Chapter 27 — Fire Call
I woke to salt.
Not ocean salt.
Salt on wounds.
Liquid burning my skin awake.
My eyes opened to a room with no windows.
A bulb overhead that flickered just enough to make time feel broken.
My hands were bound.
My ankles too.
Someone had moved the jade charm.
My pocket was empty.
The absence felt louder than pain.
A voice spoke from somewhere behind me.
“Talk.”
I swallowed.
My throat was raw.
“How many times did you film?” the voice asked.
Silence answered for me.
A slap landed.
Not hard enough to knock me out.
Hard enough to remind me my body belonged to the room.
I learned quickly what they wanted.
Names.
Connections.
Who I worked for.
Who would come looking.
Every time I didn’t answer, they made the question physical.
Fist to ribs.
Boot to thigh.
A bucket of cold water when my head sagged.
I stopped counting time.
I counted breaths instead.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Somewhere above, machinery hummed.
At some point, the hum changed.
A higher pitch.
A faster rhythm.
Voices rose.
Footsteps rushed.
Then a smell cut through everything.
Smoke.
Real smoke.
Not chemical.
Not sweet.
Smoke that crawled into the throat and stayed there.
Shouting echoed through the ceiling.
Someone swore.
Another voice yelled, “Burn it. Burn it all.”
The door jerked open.
Light spilled in—orange, violent.
A man yanked me upright.
The room spun.
I coughed.
The man dragged me toward the hallway.
Heat pressed from somewhere ahead.
Flames licked along the ceiling like hungry hands.
My bare arms prickled.
I stumbled.
He cursed and shoved me forward.
Then he let go.
Not mercy.
Panic.
He ran.
I fell against the wall and slid down.
Smoke thickened.
My eyes streamed.
Somewhere far away, sirens began.
A sound that belonged to outside.
To rescue.
To a world that still had rules.
I pressed my forehead to the wall and forced air through my mouth.
The jade charm wasn’t in my hand.
So I used the next best thing.
I pressed my palm flat to the concrete, hard enough to feel pain anchor me.
Stay awake.
Stay here.
The floor vibrated faintly.
Boots?
Or something collapsing?
I couldn’t tell.
I crawled.
Slow.
Dragging myself toward a bathroom sign barely visible through smoke.
I made it to the door.
Inside, the air was marginally cooler.
Tiles. A broken sink. A thin trickle of water.
I soaked my jacket in the sink.
Press it to my mouth.
Breathe through fabric.
The world narrowed.
Sound became distant.
Somewhere beyond the wall, a voice shouted orders.
A voice I knew without knowing why.
Then the sound of something heavy falling.
Metal groaning.
A crash that shook the tiles.
I held my breath.
Not prayer.
Not hope.
Just instinct.
And in the roar of fire, one name tried to rise in my mind.
I swallowed it down.
Names were dangerous.
Even in my own head.
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