None of this is right, I think. In my vision, I’m not sitting here waiting for him to show up. He gets here first. I come down when the truck is already parked, and walk up into the forest, and he’s already there. He’s watching the fire as it comes.

I glance at my watch. The hands aren’t moving. It’s stopped at eleven forty-two. I left the house at about nine in the morning, probably had my big crash around ten thirty, so at eleven forty-two . . .

At eleven forty-two I was in hell. And I have no idea what time it is now.

I should have stayed with Mom. I had time. I could have taken her home or to the hospital. Why did she insist that I leave her? Why would she want to be alone? My heart seizes with fear at the thought that she might be hurt much worse than she let on and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hide it much longer, so she made me go. I picture her lying on the bank of the lake, the water lapping at her feet, dying. Dying all alone.

Don’t, I scold myself. You still have work to do.

All these months of having the vision, over and over and over again, all these months of trying to make sense of it, and now it’s finally here and I still don’t know what to do, or why I will do it. I can’t get over the feeling that I’m already doing something wrong. That I was supposed to go on that date with Christian, maybe something important would’ve happened to lead him here today. Maybe I’ve already failed.

That’s pretty bleak to consider. I lean my head back against the tree trunk just as my phone rings. It’s from a number I don’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Clara?” says a familiar, worried voice.

“Wendy?”

I try to pull it together. I wipe at my face. It feels really strange to be having a normal conversation all of a sudden. “Are you home?”

“No,” she says. “I’m supposed to fly in on Friday. But I’m calling about Tucker. Is he with you?”

A dart of pain shoots through me. Tucker.

“No,” I say awkwardly. “We broke up. I haven’t seen him in a week.”

“That’s what my mom said,” says Wendy. “I guess I was hoping you’d gotten back together or something, and he was with you since he has the day off.”

I look around. The air is getting heavier. I can distinctly smell the smoke. The fire’s coming.

“My mom called me when she saw the news. My parents are in Cheyenne at an auction and they don’t know where he is.”

“What news?”

“Don’t you know? The fires?”

So the fire is on the news. Of course.

“What are they saying? How big is it?”

“What?” she says, confused. “Which one?”

“What?”

“There are two fires. One pretty close, moving fast down Death Canyon. And a second one, over in Idaho near Palisades.”

A cold, sick dread crashes over me.

“Two fires,” I repeat, stunned.

“I called the house but Tucker wasn’t there. I think he might be hiking. He loves the fishing out there at the end of Death Canyon. And Palisades, too. I was hoping you were with him with your phone.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I just have a bad feeling.” She sounds close to tears.

I have a bad feeling, too. A very, very bad feeling. “You’re sure he’s not home?”

“He might be out in the barn,” she says. “The phone doesn’t ring out there. I’ve left him like a million messages. Could you go check?”

I don’t have a choice now. I can’t leave here, not with the fire so close, not without knowing how long it will be until it comes.

“I can’t,” I say helplessly. “Not right now.”

There’s a minute of silence.

“I’m really sorry, Wendy. I’ll try to find him as soon as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” she says. “Thank you.”

She hangs up. I stand for a minute staring at the phone. My mind races. Just to make sure, I call Tucker’s house and agonize while the phone rings and rings. When the answering machine picks up I hang up.

How long would it take me to fly to the Lazy Dog Ranch from here? Ten minutes? Fifteen? It’s not far. I start to pace. My gut says that something is wrong. Tucker is lost. He’s in trouble. And I’m just standing here waiting for who knows what to happen.

I’ll go. I’ll fly as fast as I can, then come right back.

I summon my wings and stand for a minute in the middle of Fox Creek Road, still trying to decide.

No one said there wouldn’t be sacrifices. You belong here, in this moment.

I can’t think. I find myself in the air, shooting toward Tucker’s house as fast as my wings will take me.

It’s okay, I tell myself. You have time. You’ll just go find him and come right back.

Then I tell myself to shut up and concentrate on moving through the air quickly, trying not to think about what it all means, Tucker and Christian and the choice I’m making.

It only takes a few minutes to reach the Lazy Dog Ranch. I’m screaming Tucker’s name before I even hit the ground. His truck isn’t in the driveway. I stare at the spot where he usually parks, the smear of oil on dirt, the crushed weeds and little wildflowers, and I feel like the bottom has dropped out of my stomach.

He’s not here.

I run into the barn. Everything looks normal, chores all done, stalls cleaned out, the riding tack shining on the pegs. But Midas isn’t there either, I realize. Tucker’s horse isn’t there or the bridle he got for his birthday or the saddle that’s usually propped along the far wall. Back outside in the yard, I see that the horse trailer is gone, too.

He’s out there. On a horse. Away from phones or radios or news.

The sky is turning that familiar golden orange. The fire is coming. I have to get back to Fox Creek Road. I know that this is it, the moment of truth. I was meant to come here to check for Tucker, but that’s all. When I go back to Fox Creek Road, the silver truck will be there. Christian will be standing there waiting for me. I will save him.

Suddenly I’m in the vision. I’m standing at the edge of the road, looking at Christian’s silver Avalanche, about to go to him. My hands clench into fists at my sides, fists so tight that my nails cut into my palms, because I know. Tucker is trapped. I can see him so clearly in my mind, leaning against Midas’s neck, looking around him for a way out of the inferno that has overtaken him, looking for me. He whispers my name. Then he swallows and bends his head. He turns to the horse and gently strokes its neck. I watch his face as he accepts his own death. In just a few heartbeats, the fire will reach him. And I’m miles away, taking my first steps toward Christian. I am so very far away.