Dante's hands gripped the cell bars. "Isabella."
The single word carried more emotion than he'd shown in five years. General Stone's eyes widened slightly, understanding what that tone meant.
Captain Harris burst into the jail, his face pale. "The Grey warehouse is burning! Half the block is going up!"
"Release him," Stone commanded, holding up the royal permit. "This man is under my authority now."
"I don't care about permits!" Harris was already fumbling with his keys. "We need every able-bodied fighting that fire!"
The cell door swung open. Dante was moving before the captain finished speaking, running through the jail toward the exit. The shackles were still on his wrists, but he ignored them.
Outside, the evening sky glowed orange. Thick smoke billowed from the warehouse district. People ran in every direction—some toward the fire with buckets, others fleeing with possessions.
Dante sprinted through the streets faster than he'd allowed himself to move in years. Behind him, General Stone shouted orders to guards. But Dante wasn't thinking about organization. He was thinking about Isabella.
He rounded the corner and stopped.
The Grey Merchant Company warehouse was fully engulfed. Flames poured from windows, and the roof was beginning to collapse. The heat was intense even from fifty feet away.
"Where's Isabella?" Dante grabbed the nearest person.
"I don't know! Nobody's seen her!"
Dante spotted Tom on his knees, coughing and covered in soot.
"Tom!" Dante ran to him. "Where is she?"
Tom looked up, his eyes red from smoke. "She went inside. To save the ledgers. Her father's whole legacy—she wouldn't leave them." He grabbed Dante's shirt. "I tried to stop her, but the smoke..."
Dante was already moving toward the burning building.
"Are you insane?" someone shouted. "The whole structure's about to collapse!"
Dante ignored them. He evaluated the warehouse with a tactical eye—weak points, safest entry, and likely locations. If Isabella went for the ledgers, she'd be in the office at the back.
He kicked through a side door. The heat inside was crushing, the smoke thick. He dropped low where the air was clearer and moved through the warehouse with battlefield precision.
Burning crates created obstacles. Part of the ceiling crashed behind him. Dante kept moving.
"Isabella!" he shouted.
No response.
He reached the office. The door was closed, protecting it somewhat from flames. Dante kicked it open and found Isabella collapsed on the floor, ledgers clutched to her chest, unconscious.
Dante grabbed her, pulling Isabella into his arms. The ledgers fell. For a split second, he considered saving them too. But then another section of the roof collapsed.
The ledgers weren't worth her life.
Dante carried Isabella back through the inferno. The shackles made it harder to balance her weight. A support beam crashed where he'd been standing seconds before. The exit he'd used was now blocked.
He changed course, heading for the loading dock. Dante hit the side exit with his shoulder. The wood splintered. Fresh air hit his lungs as he burst outside.
The crowd gasped as Dante emerged carrying Isabella. He laid her gently on the ground, checking her breathing. Weak but present.
"She needs Doctor Harris!" someone shouted.
"No. Too slow." Dante positioned Isabella carefully and began pressing on her chest in a specific rhythm, then breathing into her mouth. A military technique that had saved dozens of lives.
After what felt like an eternity, Isabella coughed. Then she was gasping, her eyes flying open.
"Easy," Dante said gently, turning her on her side. "You're safe. Just breathe."
Isabella's eyes focused on him. "Dante? The ledgers... I couldn't..."
"Forget the ledgers."
"But my father's legacy—"
"Is not worth your life," Dante said firmly.
Isabella stared at him, tears streaming down her soot-covered face. Then she threw her arms around him, sobbing. Dante held her while the warehouse burned behind them.
General Stone appeared with Captain Harris and a bucket brigade. They'd organized a fire response, but it was too late. All they could do was prevent spreading.
A commotion rippled through the crowd. People were pointing, whispering. Dante followed their gaze and felt rage ignite.
Marcus Thorne sat on his horse at the edge of the crowd, watching the warehouse burn with obvious satisfaction.
Tom saw him too and lunged forward. "You did this! You burned us out!"
Guards restrained Tom. Marcus smiled coldly.
"Careful with accusations. I've been at the mayor's residence all evening. I have witnesses." His eyes found Isabella. "Such a tragedy. Perhaps if Miss Grey had been more reasonable yesterday, she'd still have a business." He paused. "Sometimes we learn harsh lessons about the cost of pride."
Isabella tried to stand, to confront him, but her legs wouldn't support her. Dante held her steady.
"You won't get away with this," Isabella said hoarsely.
"Won't I? Prove it was me. You have no warehouse, no inventory, no records. You're ruined." Marcus leaned forward. "My offer stands. One week. Think carefully about what matters more—revenge or your father's life."
Marcus rode away. Several townspeople shouted after him, but none pursued.
Stone placed a hand on Dante's shoulder. "Which is why we need to go to the capital. Win the tournament. It's the only way to get real justice."
Isabella pulled back, looking between them. "What tournament?"
Before Dante could answer, Old Man Fischer pushed through the crowd, his face twisted with anger.
"This is all your fault, Blackwell!" Fischer pointed at Dante. "You attacked Lord Thorne's guards! You humiliated him! And now look what's happened! It's because you couldn't control yourself!"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd.
"Fischer's right," another merchant said. "We were fine before Blackwell picked a fight with nobility."
"The boy defended Isabella," Tom protested.
"And look where that got us! Thorne's angry now. Who knows what he'll burn next? My bakery? Your shops?"
The crowd's mood shifted, fear turning to anger. That anger found an easy target—the disgraced noble who'd brought trouble to their quiet town.
"You should leave, Blackwell," someone shouted. "Before you get us all killed!"
Isabella tried to defend him, but her voice was too weak. Dante watched as the townspeople he'd lived among for five years turned against him. Fear made them choose the powerful over the just.
He'd seen this before. At his trial, when nobles he'd fought beside abandoned him. When friends became strangers because association was dangerous.
Stone stepped forward, his bearing commanding attention. "Dante Blackwell is under royal protection now. Anyone who interferes answers to me and the crown."
The crowd fell silent.
Stone turned to Dante. "Get Miss Grey somewhere safe. Then meet me at the town hall. We leave for the capital at dawn."
As the crowd dispersed, a small figure emerged from the shadows—a messenger boy. He approached Dante with a sealed letter. "This came for you, sir." Dante opened it. Inside, written in elegant script: "Your brothers send their regards. -V"