Rion could still smell smoke. The taste of it was stuck in his throat, thick on his tongue as he stepped into the cold morning air with his dad.

After the chaos of first responders, police, and the hospital, the grey parking lot felt like a foreign, alien world. It was all wrong. He shouldn’t be going home like everything was okay, like everything was said and done and over.

The sky was beginning to glow with the first hint of sunlight. As Rion’s dad led him to the car, one arm around his shoulders, Rion saw the Murphys next to their own vehicle.

Mrs. Murphy was in the front passenger seat. She was in tears, her shoulders shaking as she buried her face into a handful of tissues. The rear door was open while Mr. Murphy and Peter helped Noa into the back seat.

Mr. Murphy had his back to Rion, but he could see Peter who was standing next to the car, leaning on it for support. His eyes were puffy and red, glassy as he stared off into nothing.

And Noa...

He was bundled up in a blanket, his heavily bandaged hand poking out. His face was pale, ashen, eyes downcast, expression blank.

As Rion and his dad passed by, Noa glanced up. Their eyes met.

The smoke on Rion’s tongue grew bitter with the sharp swell of emotions. He felt like he could lose himself all over again, dizzy and sick and spiralling out of control.

For a few, brief seconds, Rion’s world was only him, Noa, and the rapid beating of his own heart.

But then Noa looked away. Rion’s dad kept walking and Rion’s legs followed obediently.

Rion turned away, following his dad to their car.