HERMIONE
The scent of smoke fills my lungs before I even see the flames.
They lick up the old velvet drapes like they've been waiting years for this moment, devouring everything in their path — greedy, alive, and merciless.
Claire screams behind her gag. Lia is thrashing, her chair tipped halfway over. The fire crackles louder than my heartbeat, louder than Isabelle's footsteps fading down the hallway.
She's really leaving us.
To burn.
"NO!" I scream, twisting against the rope until it slices into my skin. "ISABELLE!"
No answer.
Just heat. And smoke. And panic.
My eyes sting as I jerk my arms again and again, the rope slick with sweat and blood. The fire reaches the altar, setting off sparks that shower the floor.
Think, Hermione.
Think.
I force myself to go cold, go still. The rope. The knot. Where is it weakest?
I yank upward, wriggling my wrists, ignoring the pain. Claire's eyes are wide with terror, and Lia's coughing now, smoke clouding the air fast.
Then — snap.
The rope gives.
I stumble forward, nearly falling, but I catch myself. "I'm coming!" I cry, running to Lia and untying her first. Her gag falls away with a sharp tug and she gasps like she's breathing for the first time.
"Oh my God—Hermione—the fire—"
"I know, I know!" I cut her free. "Help me with Claire!"
We both drop to our knees, freeing Claire's shaking hands, then lifting her gently. She sobs as she throws her arms around me.
"We're not going to die here," I whisper, fiercely. "We are not going to let that bitch win."
The flames close in, a wild circle tightening around us.
I spot a break in the smoke — the stained glass at the side of the chapel. There's a narrow window open at the top, already blackened by soot.
"This way!" I yell.
We run. My lungs scream. My heart thunders. The fire's heat is unbearable now, crawling up the walls like it's chasing us, like it knows we're trying to escape.
Lia helps Claire through the window first. I push from behind. She slips. I catch her. We lift. She makes it out.
"Go, Lia," I cough. "I'll follow!"
She hesitates.
"GO!"
She climbs, struggling, but manages to get a grip and wriggle out.
Now me.
I jump for the ledge, fingers scrabbling on hot stone, nails breaking. I drag myself up, shoulder screaming in protest, dress catching on a jagged edge of wood.
Then — arms.
Lia grabs me. Claire grabs my arm too. They pull with everything they've got.
I fall out with a crash, landing on hard earth, air knocked from my chest.
We made it.
We made it.
The chapel behind us groans like it's dying. A piece of the roof collapses inward, flames soaring to the sky.
Claire sobs again, this time in relief. Lia is trembling beside her. I sit up, coughing violently, blood in my mouth and fire still in my ears.
And as we sit in the dirt, holding each other and staring at the inferno Isabelle left us to die in, one truth blazes brighter than the fire:
This isn't over.
We sit in the dirt, coughing, shaking, our backs to the blazing chapel. The air is thick with smoke and ash, but we're alive.
Alive.
My wrists are raw, lips cracked, lungs burning with every breath — but my mind is sharper than it's ever been.
"She left us," Claire croaks. "She really… she meant to kill us."
"I know," I whisper, brushing soot from Lia's face as she leans into me. "But she failed. We got out."
"Barely," Lia mumbles. "And if you hadn't—Hermione, if you hadn't—"
"We don't have time for that." I rise, swaying on my feet. "We need to move."
"Where?" Claire asks, panic edging her voice. "We don't even know where we are—"
"We're somewhere near Jahi District," I say, scanning the overgrown brush and broken path around us. "That window faced west. The sun was setting. If we follow the light, we might hit the main road."
Lia steadies Claire. "Let's go. Before she comes back."
We walk, stumbling at first, then faster. Each step is agony, but I force my legs to move. Blood drips from a cut on my thigh. Claire is limping. Lia keeps checking over her shoulder.
I don't blame her.
Every rustle makes my heart lurch. Every tree looks like a shadow waiting to pounce.
But I don't stop.
I can't stop.
Not until we're safe.
After what feels like hours, we finally spot headlights — a small truck barreling down a narrow red-dust road. I wave frantically, standing in the middle of the path.
"Please!" I scream, my voice hoarse. "Help us!"
The truck slows, then stops. A middle-aged man jumps out, his eyes going wide as he sees us — three soot-covered, bleeding women, barely standing.
"Jesus Christ. Are you alright?"
"No," I gasp. "We need to get to the main part of Abuja. Please. Call the police—"
"No police," Lia mutters. "She might have people—she planned everything."
"Then call this number." I dig into my bra — the only place Isabelle didn't check — and pull out the tiny slip of paper where I'd written Dylan's emergency contact number before we left the villa.
The man dials. Speaks fast.
And then… he hands me the phone.
"Someone named Dylan," he says. "Sounded like the devil himself when I told him your name."
I press the phone to my ear. "Dylan?"
"Hermione." His voice breaks — rough, desperate. "Where are you? Are you hurt? I'm on my way—"
"We're okay. Alive. But it was her, Dylan. It was Isabelle. She tried to kill us."
"I know. I know everything now."
"She murdered Seraphine." My voice cracks. "She confessed. She was going to kill Lia and Claire too. And… and she said she still wasn't done."
"I'm going to find her," he growls. "And I'm going to end this."
I close my eyes, tears falling freely now. "Just get here. Please."
"I'm coming. Nothing will stop me. I swear it."
The line goes dead, but I hold the phone tight like it's the only thing anchoring me to the ground.
Claire sinks to her knees. Lia rubs her back. And I? I stare out into the darkness and whisper, "You tried to kill me, Isabelle. But I'm still breathing."