"Shit," I hiss, my voice hoarse. I look back at Kate, her unconscious form cradled against me. The oxygen mask hisses softly, a cruel reminder of the air I no longer have.

Think, Sam. Think.

I scan the room, my eyes darting to the window. The glass is cracked but intact, the firelight reflecting off its surface. Outside, the air is dark and cool, the kind of air I desperately need. It's a long drop to the ground, but there's no other choice.

The fire's closing in, the heat pressing against my back like a living thing. I shift Kate carefully, wrapping one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees. Her body feels too light, too fragile, as I lift her. The burns on my arm scream in protest, but I grit my teeth and push through it.

We're getting out of here. One way or another.

The floor shifts under me, groaning like it's alive, the sound reverberating up through my shoes. The heat is unbearable, radiating through the soles of my sneakers as if the fire itself is trying to pull me down. I adjust my grip on Kate, the effort making my already labored breathing even worse. My lungs feel raw, each breath a mix of scorching air and whatever scraps of oxygen are left.

The fire isn't waiting. It doesn't care about timing or plans. It's clawing at the edges of the room now, creeping along the walls and ceiling, consuming everything in its path. I glance at the doorway, where the flames are licking closer, the smoke pouring in like a flood. The fire suppressant pellets I've got left aren't enough to kill it, but they might buy me some time.

I shift Kate's weight carefully, setting her down on the floor near the window. Her body is limp, the oxygen mask still clinging to her face, hissing faintly. Her pulse is steady but weak, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. She's alive. That's all I can focus on right now.

I reach for the fire blanket tucked into the back of my costume, my fingers fumbling slightly as the heat and exhaustion dull my movements. The blanket feels heavier than it should as I unfold it, the metallic surface reflecting the dancing flames. I drape it over both of us, the edges brushing the floor, and immediately feel a small but noticeable difference in the heat. It won't stop the fire, but it'll keep us from roasting alive for a little while longer.

The window looms ahead, cracked and streaked with soot. The glass is a barrier and an escape route all at once, a thin line between this burning hell and the cold air outside. I crawl toward it, keeping Kate close, the fire blanket shielding us as best it can. Each movement feels sluggish, my muscles weighed down by the heat, the smoke, and the sheer effort of staying conscious.

Outside, the sounds of shouting and movement reach me through the chaos. Neighbors, civilians--Kate's dad. I can just make out his voice over the crackling flames, frantic and desperate. "Kate! Kate, are you in there?"

I force myself to the window, gripping the edge of the frame with trembling hands. "Hey!" My voice is hoarse, barely audible over the noise. I pound on the glass with the side of my fist, the sharp sound cutting through the chaos outside. "Hey! Up here!"

Faces turn toward me, a mix of neighbors and strangers drawn by the flames. Kate's dad is in the front yard, his face pale and streaked with soot, his eyes wide with terror. He spots me--well, Bloodhound--and freezes for a moment before his expression shifts to something halfway between hope and panic.

"She's here!" I shout, coughing through the words. My throat feels like sandpaper. "She's alive, but she's out cold! I need your help!"

He doesn't hesitate, rushing closer to the house. "What do you need? Tell me what to do!"

I glance down at the yard, at the group of neighbors huddled near the curb, some of them clutching blankets and phones. "Get everyone you can! Remember when I yelled for a blanket? We need something to catch her!"

"What--" His voice falters, his eyes darting to the second-story window, then back to me. He realizes what I mean. "You're going to--?"

"There's no other way!" I cut him off, my voice sharper than I intend. "Get the blanket ready! Now!"

He turns, shouting orders to the others. They scatter, rushing toward their houses and cars, grabbing anything that might help. I pull back from the window, coughing into my sleeve, the movement sending a fresh wave of heat washing over me. The fire is closer now, the edges of the room blurring in the flickering orange light.

The building groans again, the sound a low, ominous rumble that makes my stomach lurch. I don't have time for this. The floor won't hold much longer, and I can't risk waiting for the fire department or the Defenders to show up. It's now or never.

I glance at Kate, still unconscious under the fire blanket. Her arms are bloodied, her breathing shallow, but she's alive. She has to stay that way. "Okay," I mutter, more to myself than to her. "Okay, Kate. We're getting out of here."

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I grab one of the suppressant pellets from my utility pouch, the small sphere cool and smooth against my fingers. I lob it at the base of the doorway, aiming for the flames creeping closer. The pellet bursts on impact, releasing a cloud of suppressant foam that clings to the wood, the fire recoiling slightly. It's not enough to put it out, but it'll slow it down.

I throw the second pellet near the corner of the room where the flames are crawling up the walls. It lands with a soft thud, the foam spreading out in a thin layer, smothering some of the smaller flames. It buys me a precious minute, maybe two. I was hoping to save these for beating Aaron's ass, but, well... more important duties call.

I turn back to the window, the fire blanket still draped over me like a makeshift shield. The air is hotter now, each breath searing my lungs despite the protection. My head feels light, the edges of my vision blurring slightly. The heat is exhausting, pulling at me like quicksand. Every second I spend in this house is a second closer to collapse.

"Are you ready?" I shout down to the crowd below, my voice raw and strained. Kate's dad looks up at me, his hands clutching the edges of a thick quilt stretched out between him and three neighbors. Others are scrambling to add more blankets underneath, layering them for extra cushioning.

"We're ready!" he yells back, his voice shaky but determined. "Do it!"

I nod, swallowing hard. My hands shake as I lift Kate, her body limp and unresponsive. The fire blanket slips off her shoulders as I adjust my grip, her weight pressing down on my arms like an anchor. My burns scream in protest, the raw skin beneath the bandages flaring with pain, but I don't let go.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, more to myself than to her. "I'm so, so sorry."

I edge closer to the window, the smoke swirling around me in thick, choking plumes. My hands tremble as I brace Kate's body against the frame, angling her toward the makeshift catch system below. Every instinct in me screams not to do this, not to throw an unconscious girl out of a second-story window, but there's no other choice. The stairs are gone. The fire is closing in. This is the only way.

"Hold tight!" I shout down to the group below. "She's coming down!"

I close my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to focus. My breath is shallow, my chest tight, the heat pressing down on me like a physical weight. I picture the trajectory in my head, the angle, the fall, the impact. It has to work. It has to.

"Three... two... one!"

I push her forward, the movement deliberate and careful, releasing her into the air. The moment she leaves my hands, time slows, every detail burned into my memory: the way her body arcs downward, the quilt stretching taut beneath her, the gasps from the crowd as they brace for impact. She hits the blankets with a muffled thud, the fabric billowing around her like a parachute.

"She's down!" someone shouts. "She's okay!"

Relief washes over me, brief and fleeting, as I see Kate's dad kneel beside her, checking her pulse. She's alive. She's safe. But I'm not out yet.

The fire surges behind me, the heat unbearable now, the smoke choking every breath. I look back at the room, at the flames consuming everything in their path, and realize my time is up. The floor trembles beneath me, the wood groaning in protest, ready to give way.

I don't think. I just move.

I climb onto the windowsill, the fire blanket clutched tightly in one hand, and leap.

The fall isn't like any I've taken before. Two stories isn't skyscraper-level, but it's no small leap either, and for all the training I've had with the Young Defenders--gymnastics, parkour drills, controlled drops--it still feels like the ground rushes up at me faster than it should. The fire blanket clutched in my hand flaps wildly, offering no comfort. My legs and core scream at me to control the descent, but it's all happening too fast.

I hit the blanket below with a force that snaps through my body like a coiled spring let loose. My shoulder takes most of it, and for a split second, I'm sure I've dislocated it. The air is forced from my lungs, a guttural sound escaping my throat as I bounce slightly and tumble sideways onto the grass. The world goes black.

It's only for a second, maybe two. When I come to, I'm gasping for air, the acrid taste of smoke still clawing at the back of my throat. My head pounds in time with my heartbeat, my vision swimming as I try to focus on the blurry shapes moving around me. Someone's shouting my name--or rather, my moniker.

"Bloodhound! Hey, Bloodhound, are you okay?"

I force myself upright, the movement sharp and disorienting, my body protesting every inch. My shoulder feels like it's been wrenched out of alignment, and my burns throb angrily beneath the fresh bandages. None of it matters. I scramble to my feet, the fire blanket still clutched tightly in one hand, and turn toward Kate.

She's been placed on a quilt near the edge of the yard, a small crowd of neighbors and onlookers gathered around her. Her dad is kneeling beside her, his face pale and streaked with soot, his hands shaking as he holds one of hers. Her body is limp, her skin ghostly beneath the layer of soot and ash that clings to her like a second skin. The oxygen mask is still strapped to her face, but even from here, I can see that her chest is barely moving.

"Move!" I shout, the command ripping out of me with more force than I intend. The crowd parts instinctively, a ripple of shocked faces as I drop to my knees beside her.

Her dad looks up at me, his eyes wide with desperation. "She's not--she's not--"

"She's breathing," I say, cutting him off, though I'm not entirely sure. "Barely. I need space."

I press two fingers to the side of her neck, searching for her pulse. It's faint--weak and thready, like a whisper against my skin--but it's there. Her chest rises and falls, but the motion is shallow, uneven. Each breath is accompanied by a faint wheezing sound, like her throat is trying to close off completely.

She's fading.

I don't think. There's no room for hesitation, no space for doubt. I yank the oxygen mask off her face and tilt her head back, pinching her nose shut as I seal my mouth over hers. The first breath goes in, but her chest barely rises. The second meets the same resistance, the wheezing sound growing louder, more strained.

"Shit," I mutter, pulling back. Her airway is swelling shut. The smoke and heat have scorched her throat and lungs, making it nearly impossible for her to take in air. My mind races, replaying every first aid lesson Gossamer drilled into us during our training sessions. The basics. Focus on the basics.

"Come on, Kate," I whisper, my hands shaking as I interlock them over her sternum. "Stay with me."