Hank got to his feet, a sleeve pressed over his nose and mouth, ears ringing, eyes watering in the billows of smoke. Voices shouted, boots pounded the floor, someone was dragged past him, the fire alarm thrashed in his skull.

He looked back toward the dying flames, the hiss of fire extinguishers - and saw, through the smoke, a young woman with short brown hair. She seemed unaffected by the smoke, unbothered by the chaos.

She stepped through the doorway, into the crackling apartment.

No one was stopping her.

A scowl lined Hank's face - he didn't hesitate. He jammed his gun back in its holster, raced along the wall against the flow of frightened evacuees, dodged a SWAT officer who reached out to block his way.

He coughed, wheezing; the heat pushed heavy against him, the smoke burned his eyes, scraped his throat.

When the smoke shifted, he saw glimpses of her, standing in the kitchen. Staring at him with pleading eyes.

"Get out of here!" he hollered, firm steps forward. "Come on!"

Hank reached out toward her, urged her to take his hand while the fire flickered dangerously close - but she looked at the floor, knelt down in silence.

He couldn't see her anymore.

Hank broke into a sprint, all caution abandoned, fearing that she'd fainted, suffocating - prepared to find her, grab her, get her out by any means necessary. He ran through fire, he couldn't see, couldn't breathe.

He'd reached the place where she'd stood - but there was nothing but a blasted hole in the floor -

- and within the splinters, a shine of liquid blue.

The woman had disappeared.

Hank knew he should turn around, get out before he would need to be rescued after chasing a hallucination - but he had a sinking feeling. An instinct he couldn't ignore.

Immediately he dropped to his knees, dug his fingers in the splinters, pried up the shattered remains of the floorboards while he struggled for air.

A long wooden box - hidden beneath the floor - had been broken in the explosion. Jagged daggers of impacted wood thrust down into a mass of shattered plastic, orange fur, blue blood.

"Hank!" Captain Allen called out from the doorway. "I'm coming in!"

Hank started to respond, but hacked a violent cough instead. His head spun, clouded and dizzy; all he could see were patches of black smoke and bright flame.

He tucked the blue-dripping box under his arm - crawled his way along the floor, desperate for air, until he felt Captain Allen grab his shoulder to guide him to the doorway.

Hank stumbled in the empty corridor, collapsed against the wall, slid to the floor, every breath sweet and agonizing. He rubbed furiously at his eyes, wheezed a rattling cough, carefully pulled apart the jagged remains of the box to reach what was inside.

"For fuck's sake, Hank." Allen's voice was like gunfire; he stood over Hank, rigid and foreboding. "You could've got us both killed - for a fucking robot cat. What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Can we talk about this later?" Hank didn't look up, didn't raise his voice; a curtain of gray hair hid his face while he deactivated the cat's fur and skin. His fingers were already coated in shining blue.

Broken plastic. Severed conduits. A damaged regulator.

He could fix this.

Hank pushed his way outside, through the throngs of police and paramedics and firefighters, wailing sirens, flashing lights, the rattling fire alarm, the roar of the water pumps, hoses like snakes racing for the scene.

His phone vibrated as he placed the broken box - and the delicate plastic form of a cat, held together with fabric scraps - on the passenger seat.

"Connor, what happened?" he demanded, his voice gravelly and pained.

He got behind the wheel, linked the phone to the car speakers, blared the horn for the crowd to let him pass.

[He's dead.]

"Shit." Hank threw his weight into the horn until people scurried out of the way. "Are you all right?"

[I'm okay.]

"You don't sound okay."

[Neither do you.]

"Just …" Hank turned the wheel, finally cleared the chaos of the crime scene, hit the gas. "I'm headed for the clinic."

The acorn felt heavy in Hank's pocket.

"I think I've got Traci."