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I tear free hard enough to make him stumble. “My family is in there.”

I don't wait for a response. The moment I cross the threshold, smoke swallows me whole. Heat slams into me with brutal force, heavy with the acrid scent of burning wood, melted plastic, and chemicals. The shelter's fire alarms scream overhead, their shrill warning nearly drowned out by shattering glass and the hungry roar of flames somewhere deeper inside the building.

I know this place. I’ve walked these hallways dozens of times with Ivy. I know where Winston's old kennel sits. I know where Maggie keeps treats in her desk drawer because she insists every visitor deserves a snack, including me. I know the reading corner in the cat room where Ivy curls up with frightened kittens.

None of it looks the same now.

Smoke hangs thick throughout the front offices, turning familiar rooms into something unrecognizable. Orange light dances across walls blackened by soot while water from the sprinkler system drips steadily from the ceiling.

“Boss!”

I turn toward the sound as one of my security men staggers down the corridor toward me. Soot streaks his face, and blood runs from a cut near his hairline. He doubles over in a violent coughing fit before forcing himself upright again.

“Where is she?” I demand.

He drags in a ragged breath. “They got most of the animals out,” he says hoarsely. “Maggie and Jules went back for the isolation room.”

“When?”

“Maybe ten minutes ago.”

Ten minutes inside a burning building is an eternity. Rage and fear collide inside me as I move deeper into the shelter. Maggie has already proven more than once that she’ll run toward danger if someone she loves is trapped.

“Boss!” Luka catches up with me near the reception desk. “Firefighters are here.”

“I have to find her,” I bite out.

Luka mutters something deeply profane in Russian beneath his breath, but he follows without another argument. We move quickly, searching room by room.

“Maggie!” I shout.

No answer comes back.

The adoption room stands empty except for overturned chairs and abandoned carriers. The cat room has already been evacuated, its kennels open, and blankets scattered across the floor. The treatment area appears deserted.

Panic kills, and emotion kills. Bratva training drilled those lessons into me before I was old enough to shave, and years later, they remain carved into bone. I force myself to assess, prioritize, and move because fear is useless unless it serves a purpose.

An empty carrier lies abandoned in the middle of the hallway. A leash rests beside it. Several blankets are scattered across the floor. The abandoned supplies tell a clear story. The shelter was evacuated, but Maggie stayed behind.

I continue moving. The recovery wing resembles a war zone. Several kennels stand open while others have been dragged into the hallway. The isolation room door hangs partially open. Inside, every kennel is empty.

“Maggie!” I shout again.

Then we hear it.

A cough echoes faintly through the smoke. It isn't Maggie. It's male. Luka hears it too because his head snaps toward the sound at the exact same moment mine does.

“This way,” he says sharply.

We follow the sound into the rear corridor.

Sam lies near the collapsed hallway, barely conscious. Blood covers one side of his face, and his breathing comes in shallow, painful bursts.

I drop beside him. “Sam.”

His eyes struggle open. “Boss.”

“Where’s Maggie?”