Chap­ter 38 opens with Saint sit­ting on the met­al edge of an ambu­lance ramp, her body wrapped tight­ly in a ther­mal blan­ket as a wall of heat and smoke swirls around her. The fire behind her rages uncon­trol­lably, paint­ing the night sky with puls­ing orange light. Sirens blur in the back­ground, and voic­es echo com­mands, but the sounds seem dis­tant, as if dulled by the emo­tion­al chaos with­in her. Her chest ris­es with shaky breaths as she watch­es the blaze devour what’s left of the barn. Through cracked glass­es, she tries to make sense of the blurred sil­hou­ettes of peo­ple work­ing fran­ti­cal­ly to con­tain the flames. Her limbs feel heavy, but her thoughts move quick­ly, cycling between dis­be­lief and grief.

A para­medic checks her vitals, but Saint bare­ly reg­is­ters the touch. Her gaze keeps drift­ing toward the fire, drawn to its vio­lence and the sense that something—someone—may still be trapped inside. When she sees Chief Nix walk­ing toward her, she sud­den­ly stands. Her fists trem­ble, and words burst out in choked gasps. “He’s in there,” she cries, her voice raw. Nix tries to calm her, say­ing they’ve done a full sweep and no one remains inside. But Saint doesn’t believe him. Her instinct tells her oth­er­wise, and her emo­tions surge beyond what words can hold.

The team quick­ly orga­nizes to fol­low a trail of blood lead­ing into the woods, and Saint joins them, though her steps are unsteady. The trees look dif­fer­ent in the firelight—less famil­iar, more threat­en­ing. She can smell the smoke embed­ded into the soil and leaves. It clings to her skin and hair, inten­si­fy­ing the nau­sea that has been build­ing since the moment the flames touched her home. Turn­ing away from the team, she hides behind a police vehi­cle and vom­its, the act leav­ing her shak­ing. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and leans on the car, her thoughts cir­cling in pan­ic.

As dusk set­tles ful­ly into night, a fine mist begins to fall, min­gling with the ash still drift­ing from the fire. The rain doesn’t cool the heat but thick­ens the mud, mak­ing move­ment hard­er. News reach­es the group that two bod­ies have been found, though the iden­ti­ties remain uncon­firmed. Sain­t’s legs near­ly give way at the announce­ment. Her hands grip her knees, hold­ing her upright. Every mus­cle in her body protests, but her mind refus­es to rest. She pleads again with Nix, her voice soft­er now, more bro­ken than angry. Still, he insists they’ve found no signs of Patch. Her heart refus­es to accept it.

Fueled by des­per­a­tion, Saint sud­den­ly takes off run­ning, dodg­ing between fire crews and slip­ping into the woods alone. Behind her, offi­cers call out, their boots splash­ing in pud­dles of ash and rain. She hears them, but she does­n’t stop. Her lungs burn, but her legs keep mov­ing. Every step is a refusal—a refusal to accept loss, to give up. Branch­es scrape at her face and arms, but she press­es for­ward. The air smells of damp earth and smoke. She no longer feels the cold.

Then, at the edge of a clear­ing, she sees him. Patch lies slumped in the grass, his body bare­ly mov­ing, his face pale against the mud. Saint drops beside him, cradling his head, whis­per­ing his name through sobs. Her fin­gers touch his pulse—weak, but there. Relief pours out of her in tears as she pulls him clos­er. “You’re alive,” she says, over and over, as if repeat­ing it could make it more true.

Offi­cers arrive sec­onds lat­er, voic­es ris­ing as they try to assess the scene. One of them radios for back­up while anoth­er reach­es to help lift Patch. But Saint won’t let go just yet. She remains there, curled around him, tears mix­ing with soot on her cheeks, silent­ly thank­ing what­ev­er force kept him breath­ing. In that moment, the noise fades again. All she can hear is his breath—ragged, but real. Despite the dev­as­ta­tion, the fire, and the grief, that sound gives her hope.

This chap­ter cap­tures the crescen­do of pan­ic, the weight of loss, and the sheer will to resist final­i­ty. Saint’s jour­ney through smoke, fear, and fury becomes a sym­bol of her unwill­ing­ness to sur­ren­der to tragedy. Through aching lungs and bleed­ing hands, she finds what she was search­ing for—a frag­ile heart­beat in the chaos.