Chapter 20 - The Night the Dragons Cried
The first thing I did was find Leonardo.
He stood beside Sophie beneath the flashing alarm lights, staring at the smoke drifting into the art room.
His eyes widened when he saw my expression.
I moved directly into his field of vision.
Fire. We are leaving now.
He nodded.
No screaming.
No confusion about shouted instructions he couldn't hear.
Just a clear message delivered in a language he understood.
Maya was already directing families toward the primary exits.
The building's emergency training began paying off immediately.
Teachers used practiced visual signals.
Children followed designated evacuation partners.
Staff checked accessible evacuation maps and guided everyone toward safe routes.
The smoke was spreading from a service corridor near the west wing.
I took Leo's hand.
Sophie grabbed his other hand.
Together, we moved toward the nearest clear exit.
Then Sophie stopped.
"My little brother!"
I looked down.
"Where is he?"
She pointed toward the reading room.
"Oliver was getting his stuffed bear!"
My stomach lurched.
Oliver was four years old.
He was also deaf, and he had only started at the academy that week.
A teacher hurried toward us.
"What's wrong?"
"Oliver may still be in the reading room."
The teacher immediately alerted the emergency coordinator.
I handed Leo to Maya.
Stay with her. Go outside.
Leo shook his head.
Oliver needs help.
The grown-ups are finding him. Your job is to get outside safely.
He hesitated.
Then he nodded.
I watched Maya lead him and Sophie toward the exit.
The hallway filled with thicker smoke.
I wanted to run after Oliver myself.
Every instinct in my body demanded it.
But the staff had an emergency plan, and abandoning it would only create another person firefighters might need to rescue.
The designated search team checked the reading room while I helped direct the remaining adults toward the courtyard.
Then I saw a familiar little face through the doorway.
Oliver.
He was crouched behind a low bookshelf, hugging a stuffed bear.
One teacher reached him and signed instructions while the other checked their evacuation route.
The boy began crying.
He didn't want to let go of his toy.
The teacher didn't force him.
She lifted him into her arms, bear and all, and carried him toward safety.
I followed them out through the east doors.
Behind us, a window shattered from the heat.
Outside, cold evening air struck my face.
Fire engines were already arriving.
The courtyard was crowded with frightened families.
Leo spotted me and ran forward.
He stopped just short of throwing himself into my arms.
Everyone out?
I looked toward Maya.
She was checking the attendance list against the evacuation roster.
One by one, teachers confirmed their students.
Finally, Maya raised her hands.
Everyone accounted for.
Relief swept through the courtyard.
Sophie burst into tears when she saw Oliver.
He ran to her holding his bear.
She wrapped both arms around him.
I had barely caught my breath when Dante's black SUV skidded to a stop beyond the emergency vehicles.
He emerged before it had fully settled.
His face was white.
"Clare!"
I lifted one hand.
"I'm here."
Then he saw Leo.
He rushed toward us, dropped to his knees, and gathered his son into his arms.
For several seconds, Dante couldn't speak.
Leo leaned back and signed directly against his father's chest.
Daddy, the lights told us to leave.
Dante nodded.
Good. You listened to the safety instructions.
Leo shook his head.
I watched them.
A tiny, exhausted smile crossed Dante's face.
You're right.
Firefighters contained the blaze before it consumed the entire building.
The west wing suffered extensive damage, but the classrooms in the eastern section remained standing.
No children were seriously injured.
Two staff members were treated for smoke exposure.
The following morning, fire investigators told us they had identified suspicious circumstances requiring a formal investigation.
They did not yet have enough evidence to name the person responsible.
I sat beside Dante at the kitchen table, watching video footage of the smoke-blackened academy.
"Someone wanted to frighten us into closing," I said.
"Perhaps," he replied. "Or someone wanted access to the building."
Helena entered carrying her laptop.
"There's a problem with the records archive."
I looked up.
"What kind of problem?"
"During the evacuation, somebody entered the administrative office through a restricted hallway."
My pulse quickened.
"Did they take anything?"
"We're comparing the inventory. The archive cabinet appears to have been opened."
Dante stood.
"What was inside?"
"Copies of the trust audit, the original protector correspondence, and the documents relating to Isabella's handwritten letter."
I stared at her.
"You think the fire was a distraction?"
"I think we need the investigators to determine that."
Then Helena showed us a still image from a surviving security camera.
A man in a maintenance jacket was entering the administrative wing while everyone else was evacuating.
His face was partially obscured.
But the employee badge clipped to his jacket was visible.
It carried the name of a worker who had resigned six months earlier.
I remembered the stranger at the side entrance.
The clipboard.
The security blind spot.
The way someone had been studying our building.
Dante looked at the photograph.
Then at me.
"They knew exactly where to go."
My phone rang.
It was Nina West, the investigative reporter.
"Clare," she said breathlessly, "I have something you need to see."
"What?"
"An email chain proving Nathaniel Voss arranged payments to Harbor Beacon."
"Send it to Evelyn."
"I already did. But there's another attachment."
I gripped the phone.
"What attachment?"
Nina's voice dropped.
"A photograph of Isabella Moretti's private medical file."
My blood went cold.
"And there's a handwritten statement inside it."
I closed my eyes.
"What does it say?"
Nina hesitated.
May you like
Then she read the words.
If anything happens to me, investigate Nathaniel Voss.
