The characters in this fanfic are not my creations but belong to their original author, Jess Cantrell, author of the Gray Matter Series.

While I strive to remain true to my perception of these characters, I may occasionally write pieces that could seem out of character. Please read with grace.


The ground trembled.

A deafening explosion ripped through the air, reverberating off the buildings like a thunderclap. Pictures rattled, then fell from the walls, glass shattering on the floor of the house. The sharp crack of splintering wood followed as Grey tumbled violently down the porch stairs, limbs flailing.

Stephen and Dana barely had time to react before they were thrown backward into the house, the force of the blast knocking them off their feet. Dust filled the air, the scent of burning fuel suddenly sharp in their noses.

"What was that?" Dana's voice was shaky as she pushed herself up onto her elbows.
"It looked like it was coming from the steel mill," Stephen responded, still catching his breath. His heart pounded in his ears as he scrambled upright, grabbing Dana's hand to haul her to her feet.

The next few moments were chaos—Dana rushing inside, tearing off her apron, Stephen racing down the porch to where Grey was groaning on the ground.

"Are you okay?" Stephen asked, his voice rough.

"What happened?" Grey muttered, still dazed, wiping blood from a split lip.

"I don't know. Some kind of explosion towards the mill." Stephen barely got the words out before Dana burst back through the door, her apron replaced with a freshly starched one, a long coat thrown hastily over her shoulders. A large carpet bag hung from her hand, the contents rattling ominously.

"Where are you going?" Stephen asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'm going down to see if anyone's hurt." Her tone was steady, her eyes already fixed toward the rising plume of smoke in the distance.

Stephen's brain clicked into gear. "I'll come with you," he said firmly. "Two sets of hands will be better than one."

"I appreciate the help," she replied, her focus shifting briefly back to Grey.

"I'll have to drop Grey at the shop," Stephen added, but Grey shook his head, his jaw set.

"I can come with you," he insisted. "I can help figure out what happened."

Stephen hesitated, casting a concerned glance at his friend. The ringing in his ears from the blast still lingered, and he knew Grey's vision wouldn't be an asset here, especially in the confusion. But Dana, already adjusting the strap of her bag, nodded. "He might be able to help," she said. "There's a lot to piece together."

Stephen sighed, cursing under his breath. "Fine. But stay out of the way when we get there."

The three of them hurried down the road toward the steel mill, the smell of smoke growing stronger with every step. Ash floated in the air, the faint cries of distress becoming clearer as they got closer. The entire town seemed to be waking, drawn to the carnage like moths to a flame. A fire carriage thundered by, its bell clanging ominously in the night, forcing the trio to pick up their pace.

"I didn't bring any of my medical supplies," Stephen said through ragged breaths.

"You can use mine," Dana said briskly, her eyes scanning the horizon, flames flickering against the dark sky. "If we need more, we'll send someone to your office."

Stephen nodded, grateful for her level-headedness in the chaos. But nothing could have prepared them for the scene that unfolded as they arrived at the mill.

The steel mill was a wreck. Fire belched from the windows, scorching the night with a sickening orange glow. Rubble was strewn across the ground—twisted steel beams, shattered glass, and chunks of brick. The air was thick with the acrid smell of burning metal, flesh, and sulfur. A cacophony of agonized screams rose from the wreckage, sending chills down their spines.

"What happened?" Dana grabbed an onlooker by the shoulders, shaking him out of his stunned stupor.

"They were finishing the shift," the man yelled, eyes wide with horror. "One of the boilers blew—just blew right through the walls. Like a chain reaction! We don't know how many men are in there!"

Stephen's blood ran cold. A boiler explosion. He'd seen the aftermath of smaller accidents before, but this… this was carnage on an unimaginable scale.

Dana turned to him, her expression grim. "We need to work our way inside. I think the loading dock is still standing. We can go in through there."

Stephen nodded, eyes scanning the chaos, but he grabbed Grey by the arm. "You stay out here," he ordered firmly.

"But—"

"No buts! Interview the people out here—try to make sense of what happened. Just don't do anything reckless."

Grey huffed, reluctantly stepping aside. "Fine," he muttered.

Dana was already making her way over the rubble, her carpet bag slung low. Stephen hurried to catch up as they pushed toward the entrance. The heat hit them in waves, suffocating and relentless, and the closer they got, the more gruesome the scene became.

The first worker they came across was barely conscious, slumped against a stack of debris. His face was charred, the skin bubbled and cracked like scorched earth. A deep gash ran across his shoulder, exposing raw muscle beneath his torn shirt. Blood oozed steadily from the wound, mixing with the soot covering his body.

"Doc…" he rasped, his voice barely audible. His lips were cracked, blistered from the heat. His eyes, wide and full of fear, darted around wildly.

Dana knelt beside him, already pulling supplies from her bag. "Were you near the boiler room?" she asked, her fingers moving expertly over his wound.

"No… I was in the hallway," he wheezed, wincing as she pressed down. "It blew straight through the walls. I… I don't know who else made it out." His words slurred as he faded in and out of consciousness.

"You're going to be okay, Mr. Roan," Dana said calmly, her hands never faltering. "This is Dr. Reyburn. We'll get you out of here. Can you walk?"

With Stephen's help, they lifted the man, though his legs shook with the effort. Blood dripped from his wounds, staining the ground beneath him.

"He needs the hospital!" Stephen shouted, his mind racing with everything they needed to do.

"We don't have that luxury!" Dana shot back. "We have to treat them here!"

Stephen hesitated, his training screaming at him to get these men to a sterile environment. "They'll die of infection!"

"I know!" Dana snapped, eyes flashing. "But if we don't stop the bleeding first, they'll die before we get them to a hospital. We don't have time to argue about this!"

As the flames grew higher, the tension between them mounted. Stephen cursed under his breath again and helped guide the injured man toward the exit before rushing back in after Dana.

The deeper they went, the worse it got. Bodies were sprawled across the floor, some twitching in agony, others ominously still. Blood, thick and dark, pooled beneath broken limbs. Gashes revealed bones, while burns seared skin to blackened crust. The scent of cooked flesh clung to the air, nauseating.

The cries for help were unrelenting, mixing with the crackling of fire. Dana and Stephen moved quickly, their hands covered in blood and soot as they patched wounds and tried to stabilize the worst cases. Stephen's mind raced with calculations, trying to decide which men would make it and which ones wouldn't.

Later reflection would sicken him. The mechanical way in which he assessed, the way he sorted people like objects into lists.

They reached the interior of the mill, where the heat became unbearable. Sweat poured down their faces, and each breath felt like swallowing ash.

"We can't go any further!" Stephen yelled, shielding his face from the searing heat.

"There's someone up ahead—I see an arm!" Dana shouted back. Without hesitation, she darted forward, disappearing into the smoke.

Dana surged ahead, her body low, arms covering her face as the heat radiated off the walls, suffocating her with each step. The smoke was thicker now, curling into her lungs with every breath, and she could taste the charred remains of the building on her tongue. Her eyes stung, watering uncontrollably, but she pushed forward.

"There's someone in there!" she called back, her voice hoarse and lost in the sounds of the mill – Stephen was stabilizing another victim. The figure ahead was partially obscured, only an arm visible beneath a mound of rubble and twisted steel.

Stephen's voice came muffled through the thick air. "Dana, stop! We can't—"

But Dana wasn't listening. Her gaze was locked on that outstretched arm, the skin blackened and raw, fingertips curled in agony. She crouched low, her apron ties trailing behind her, heart pounding in her chest. The heat clawed at her neck, threatening to crush it.

As she approached, the sight became clearer. The man's torso was crushed under a fallen beam, his face hidden in shadow. But something about the scene twisted her stomach in knots. The closer she got, the more details came into focus.

The man's arm was not just mangled—it was gone.

Her breath caught in her throat. She skidded to a stop, suddenly feeling as though her legs would give out from beneath her. Her chest tightened, her heart racing faster than she could control. The world spun for a moment before her mind locked onto a horrifying realization.

The arm had been missing before the blast.

"Mr. Danyon…" she whispered, voice cracking as the recognition settled like a heavy stone in her chest. Her mind flashed back to earlier moments—his jovial laugh, his worn face, always apologizing for his phantom pains, his family... His family.

Dana stared, her vision blurring as she fought to control her emotions. The stench of charred flesh filled her nose, but she couldn't pull herself away. She moved closer, her hands trembling. The firelight danced cruelly over the body, illuminating what was left of his face—a grotesque mask of blackened, peeling skin and hollow eye sockets.

He was gone. Gone before she had even reached him.

Her throat tightened as she knelt by his side. She wanted to vomit, to let the horror spill out of her, but her body was frozen. Trembling fingers brushed against his, feeling the blistered skin crumble beneath her touch. His hand was still warm, but the life had long since left him.

A glint of gold caught her eye. His wedding band, partially melted but still intact, gleamed dully in the dim light of the fire. The sight of it made her heart seize painfully in her chest. His wife. His children. They would never see him again. This was all that remained.

Tears burned at the edges of her eyes, but she had no moisture left in her body to cry. Her lips were cracked and dry, and every breath was an effort. Still, she reached out, gently pulling the ring from his swollen, ruined finger.

She stared at it for a moment, the weight of the simple gold band heavier than anything she had ever carried. Her fingers ached as she clutched it tight, tucking it deep into the pocket of her apron, where it seemed to burn in a way the fire couldn't.

"Dana!"

Stephen's voice jolted her out of the moment. She glanced up, seeing him fighting through the thick smoke, dragging a man limping at his side. The worker was barely conscious, his clothes singed and torn, one leg twisted unnaturally. Stephen's face was streaked with soot and blood, his eyes wild with urgency. "Dana, we have to go! Now!"

She stood shakily, her mind still far away, locked in that moment of realization. But her body moved on autopilot, feet shuffling back over the debris. She followed Stephen, her heart heavy, but her face expressionless. The fire roared louder as they hurried back, and the heat pressed down on them, a relentless wall of destruction at their backs.