I'm so tired that through the haze leftover from my dream, I mistake the fire alarm to be a regular wake-up call from a blaring clock. When I roll over, covering my mouth with two hands to cough, I see that it's four-thirty in the morning. The sound isn't coming because it's eight am and I have to get to the station. It's coming because there's a fire in my apartment.

I throw myself out of bed, still tangled in the sheets. The house is hot. It's so freaking hot and stuffy and the smoke is wrapping itself around my neck like an invisible noose.

There's a black stream inching out of Betsy's room. I can smell this terrible mixture of everything we own being set ablaze. There are tears in my eyes and I'm on my knees, crawling closer to the door.

Something cracks behind me, a loud snap as something in the other part of the apartment collapses. I reach up and manage to unlock the door. Despite the pain in my hand from turning the knob, I succeed.

Why did that hurt?

Even in my state, I can't help but think about the deadbolt. If the door was still locked when I reached it, Betsy is potentially lost in the apartment, passed out or worse.

This isn't how she dies, I remind myself as I stumble down the hall, weary from smoke inhalation. She has to be okay.

I'm only on the second floor, but it takes all the energy I have to get down the stairs. There's so much smoke, so much smoke and fire everywhere. When I look down at my palm, I see that it's red and blistered from a knob I never realized was hot.

I'm so close to the bottom of the stairs, to safety, but I can't breathe anymore. There's so much pain as all of it catches up to me. The next thing I know, I've collapsed in the middle of the staircase, my eyes falling shut as sirens grow closer, then louder.

Stay awake, I order myself. Get your sorry ass off the ground and stay awake.

I can't. It's like the fire has reached my entire body because I feel like I'm burning. Everything hurts.

Someone kicks the door downstairs open. There are heavy boots of a fireman thudding against the ground as hands lift me up and throw me over a shoulder.

When my eyes are opening again, I'm on a gurney outside the building, a mask over my face. It's all too familiar being in an ambulance on the edge of death. But I don't immediately register how close I was to dying, not until I replay the voicemail in my mind.

Don't give us a reason to dispose of you.

I'm an idiot. I'm actually like the imbecile protagonists of horror movies. I should've gone right and instead, I went left. If I hadn't spoken to Chief, it wouldn't have happened. Because of me, people were hurt in the crossfire. There are so many ambulances, residents coughing and receiving medical attention.

"Stay calm." one of the paramedics tells me.

It's hard to even breathe properly, let alone slow a pounding heart. I don't understand how I'm supposed to just be calm and okay.

I want to wake up, I want to wake up and have everything be okay. The voicemail, the fire— I want all of it to disappear. I want to forget any of this ever happened. I want to head to the station and give that stupid statement like I'm supposed to. I want to go back to my life when I didn't have to worry that the people I love and I are all being hunted because of a curse I've never been able to get rid of.

I can't risk them finding me. There's a very good chance they could be waiting at the hospital to finish the job. If I go to the hospital, sedation could be the last thing that ever happens to me.

"I can't go to the hospital!" I croak, trying to get up off the gurney.

The paramedic gives me a very confused look, her gloved hands gently holding my arm. "I'm sorry but—"

I manage to stand, my head pounding as I hop out of the open ambulance, grateful it wasn't in motion. Fire hoses are still being aimed at the vicious orange and red flames, unable to put them out. People who don't even live in our building are standing at the police line, staring in curiosity, as if they have nothing better to do at almost five in the morning.

Someone catches my arm again. "Miss—"

"Let go of me!" I protest, trying to wriggle free. I'm not strong enough to walk straight, let alone struggle with a paramedic twice my size.

Of all the faces I see, none of them are Betsy.

I don't have my phone, it must've been left in the apartment. I want to call her, I want to make sure she's at work, that she's okay. She has to be okay because I didn't see her die in a fire. She doesn't die like this. She can't die like this.

I need Joel. Joel will know what to do. Joel will help me find her.

"I need you to call my boyfriend," I stammer out. "I can tell you the number but I need him to get a hold of my roommate and make sure she's fine and I need him to help me—"

"Okay, okay," the man holding me says. "Just breathe. You've had a traumatic night and we need to get you to the ER as soon as possible."

"I can't go to the hospital," I snap.

He sighs and leads me back over to the ambulance. "That's your decision. I have a phone I'll let you use, but you have to let me take care of that hand of yours at the very least."

I raise my chin up and down as tears slip down my cheeks. I don't realize I'm crying until he hands me a tissue. I barely notice the sting of alcohol on my palm as he cleans it. The bandage is itchy, but it's the least of my worries.

When I'm free to go, I stand, taking the phone gratefully. "Thank you..."

"Scott," he says. "And it's no problem."

I've always had a knack for remembering numbers, just by looking at them once or twice. I'm grateful that I know Joel's as I wait for him to answer. He's groggy on the other end of the line as he says hello.

"Joel," I say, but it comes out like a whimper.

Concern is all I can hear from him. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

I sniffle. "There was a fire in the apartment—"

"What?" he exclaims.

"I'm okay," I add. "I'm fine. I just need you to come get me. I'll explain everything later but we need to go— now."

I can hear him shuffling out of bed. "I'll come get you and then we get come back here."

"No!" I yelp, then lower my volume. "We need to leave New York. Just pack a bag and we'll— I don't know. We'll get a hotel or something."

"Vi," he whispers. "You're scaring me."

"I'll tell you everything later," I promise. "But I have no idea if this phone is bugged and I don't know who might be listening to this conversation. Do you trust me, Joel?"

"Of course I do." He's probably frowning, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Then trust that I wouldn't lie to you." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Not about something like this."

"Are you still at your apartment?" he asks.

"Yeah," I say, shivering. It's cold out and I'm wearing nothing but pajamas. My things are probably soaked and burned up. I have nothing, but I need to get away from here as soon as possible. That trumps any lesser matter.

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

"Okay."

When I hand the paramedic, Scott, the phone back, he smiles at me. "Be safe out there."

I smile back, weakly, and it's hardly a genuine smile, but it's the least I can do for him. "You too."

When Joel finally arrives, I run as fast as I can, my bare feet smacking against the pavement as I launch into his arms and bury my face in his chest. He stumbles back, stabilizing us as I cling to him desperately.

"Hey," he whispers. "Hey, sweetheart. Oh, Vi, please don't cry."

I bite my lip to keep a sob contained and inhale his familiar cologne. He's here. I don't know what I'd do without him. Around us, there are voices and lights and firehoses. I manage to tune it out, fixating on one constant, one force to hold me steady.

"Thank you," I say. "Thank you. Thank you."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he replies.

When we get in his SUV, he hands me a blanket he must've brought from home. I wrap myself in it and click my seatbelt into place. It's freezing out, and I'm grateful he was looking out for me.

He sets his gun in the center console and starts the engine. Right away, I notice the .22 out in the open. He's scared, I realize. He's just as scared as I am.

From his phone, I text Betsy and tell her that I'm okay. Thankfully, she's still at work, unharmed, and glad that I contacted her. I don't tell her where I'm going, just that I'm leaving town a few days with Joel.

She says the fire must've been because she left her heater plugged in, but I know better. After blaming herself, she apologizes and says she'll start looking into new apartments as soon as she can. I wish I could tell her what's happening, but I know I can't. She's another friend I can't afford to lose. I don't want to drag her into this mess.

"You need to tell me what's going on," Joel says, cranking up the heat to warm the car "You can tell me anything."

I take a breath. "Remember when the system got hacked? The men who did it contacted me last night, saying they were gonna use me for a job. They didn't tell me what it was but told me that if I gave them a reason to, they would hurt me. I told Chief because I didn't know what else to do, and they set my apartment on fire. To kill me or to scare me, I don't know."

He reaches over and squeezes my knee. "I think we should head to my sister's house for a few days until this blows over. I don't want to take any chances by being in the state."

I don't think it will blow over. "Sounds like a plan."

Realizing I'm stressed, he makes an effort to distract me. "Let's take your mind off things." He manages a wry grin. "I think I have an idea."

"If you're thinking about sex—" I begin.

"I wasn't until now," he says teasingly. "But if you're interested—"

I laugh. "How about we just get a motel room for the night?"

He raises an eyebrow, cocking his head at me.

"Mind out of the gutter and eyes on the road," I remind him.

"Right." He bites his lip. "Sure."

By the time we check into a motel room, the sun is starting to rise. I catch his arm as he's closing the door, standing up on my toes to kiss him. He's surprised at first but gradually begins to kiss me back.

"What's with this sudden confidence?" He says, breaking away.

"I need something else to focus on," I admit. "I'd rather not think about the fact I almost died today. Seems like I'm making a habit of being in mortal peril."

He looks at me, green eyes full of adoration and concern. "I hope it's not a habit. I appreciate you too much to have you die on me."

Despite myself, I smile against his lips. "I'll try not to."