Chapter 28 Scorched Truths

• The smell of burnt ink and melted plastic clung to the ruins of the *Willowbrook Gazette* office. I sifted through the debris, my gloves blackened and fingertips raw under the bandages. The fire had spared nothing—desks charred to skeletons, monitors warped into grotesque sculptures. But it missed the safe.
• Adam stood in the doorway, sunlight cutting around his silhouette like a blade. “You shouldn’t be here.”
• I cranked the safe’s dial, ignoring the sting of blisters on my palms. “Hartman’s nephew didn’t set this fire. Someone made him do it.”