And then they turned the corner. The whine of sirens and the smell of burning plastic filled the air.
Thick black smoke poured into the sky as they got closer.
Chapter 9
The cherry blossom tree stood across the road from the home, surreal against the flames.
A house was engulfed, orange and yellow flames licking the remains like the forked tongue of a snake.
The fire was spreading to the neighbouring home. Flames crackled as roofs caved in and windows burst. Smoke rolled down the lane like a tide coming in. Embers flew from the burning building to settle close to their feet. The firemen were already there, struggling to control the inferno.
Thane was out of the door the moment the car locks disengaged. “Dory!”
The cop caught him, lifted him off the ground as he kicked and thrashed.
“Let me go! Dory!”
He screamed until his throat burned from the residue.
They couldn’t let him near. It was too late.
But the boys refused to leave. They sat on the curb across the road and watched the house of horrors burn.
“Zel?”
His father was a solid man—broad-shouldered, with calloused hands, and a face weathered more by sun and stress than age. He built houses for a living, held up roofs and fixed broken walls. But when he saw his son sitting on the pavement that day, filthy and hollow-eyed, he crumbled like plaster.
“Jaysus, son,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Jaysus Christ…”
His hands shook as they clutched the back of Zel’s neck, his hair, his back, like he couldn’t stop touching him. Like he couldn’t believe he was real.
Zel didn’t speak. He just pressed his forehead into his dad’s collar and let the warmth soak into his bones.
His father kissed the top of his head and held on like a man who’d prayed and never expected an answer.
Lirian’s father came minutes later. He dropped beside him without words, pulling his son into a long, shaking hug. Maro was in foster care, and he knew there was no one coming for him.
The fire was still going, and Thane had to keep watching. He had to be there. He had to see.
Then another voice, followed by a scream, “Thane!”
His head felt heavy as he watched his mum sprint through the police and paramedic barrier. Her face crumpled the second she saw him. She dropped to her knees on the cold concrete, arms wrapping around him so tight he couldn’t breathe.
She was crying, great gasping sobs that wracked her whole body. She kissed his forehead, his cheeks, his muddy and scraped knuckles, and just kept whispering his name like it was a prayer.
“Thane, baby… My baby. Oh my God, Thane—”
He didn’t move.
He let her hold him while he sat there stiffly, but he didn’t hug her back.
Then came his dad, silent and pale. His face was a study of unbearable relief, his unmistakable eyes moist with tears of joy.He crouched slowly, eyes scanning his son as though trying to confirm he was real. And then his arms went around both of them, pulling them together.
Thane’s sister stood just behind them, clutching a coat she must have grabbed on the way out. Her shoulders shook as silent tears burst from her. She didn’t come forward because Thane had not spoken or cried. He had his eyes pinned on the burning building. It was like Thane had come back different.
Thane blinked, his eyes returning to the fire that still roared. Smoke filled the sky. The cherry blossom tree now silhouetted against it, petals fluttering like ash.
His mother’s fingers threaded through his hair. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered. “We thought… We didn’t know—”
