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“I’m human.” The words cut through every other sound.

She stared at me.

“Wolfsbane won’t affect me the same way.”

“True, but we don’t know what else is in there. Whoever did this could’ve mixed something else with the wolfsbane.”

I ignored her and rushed toward the house.

“Sloane, wait.” She grabbed at my arm.

I pulled free.

There was no time for debate.

Someone shouted behind me. Karen, maybe. Her opinion had lost all authority.

The smoke reached me before the porch. It scratched my throat and made my eyes water, but my legs remained strong. I covered my mouth with the front of my shirt and entered.

Visibility disappeared almost immediately. The front room had become a pale haze. Furniture emerged in broken outlines. A lamp lay on the floor beside shattered glass from the front window.

Bodies were scattered across the room.

My heart lurched. “Hudson!”

No answer.

Coughing, I moved deeper into the house. Something metal hissed near the dining area. I followed the sound.

A small canister sat beneath the table, spilling smoke through holes punched across its top. It looked absurdly ordinary. A novelty-store smoke device with cheap printed warning labels and a pull ring lying nearby.

Someone had modified it. Purple residue clung to the floor around it.

I grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it free. Plates and cups crashed to the floor. I threw the fabric over the canister, wrapped it quickly, and lifted.

Heat burned through the cloth. I carried it to the kitchen sink, dropped it into the basin, and turned on the faucet. Water soaked the fabric. The smoke lessened.

I opened the kitchen window, then the one above the table. The front window had already shattered, but the remaining glass blocked airflow around the frame. I grabbed a chair and struck it.

The glass broke outward. Fresh air moved through the room.

Still coughing, I returned to the bodies.

Hilary lay nearest the couch. I knew her well enough to recognize her even through the smoke. She had collapsed on one side, fingers curled near her throat.

“Okay,” I whispered. “Okay. We’re going.”

At the beginning of summer, I could barely carry groceries up the apartment stairs without rearranging the bags halfway. Dragging an unconscious adult through a smoke-filled house should have been impossible.

I hooked my arms under hers and pulled. Her body moved, but barely.

I planted my feet and pulled again. My legs burned. The distance to the door seemed enormous.

I kept moving. One step. Then another. Her heels scraped across the floor.

I reached the porch and shouted. “Take her!”

Several people rushed forward but stopped at the edge of the smoke. Two men wearing cloth masks grabbed Hilary’s arms once I pulled her clear.