Finn slammed into the wall. A wave of flames washed over him, singing his hair and his face. Heat clung to him and clawed into his flesh.

He fell to the floor, already rolling to put out the biting flames. He struck the back of the couch, and for a moment that small space was an oasis; no smoke, no flames.

Cora’d been standing right in front of the fireplace.

Finn grabbed the back of the couch, ignoring the way its upholstery clung to him like burning oil, and hauled himself up.

The air was gray with ash and smoke. Flames danced over the fabric of an overturned armchair. It was consuming a wooden bookshelf, the books nothing more than a few blackened spines. The room was black, walls covered in soot from the explosion.

He could see no one. Hear nothing except an insistent ringing in his ears.

Thundering forward with legs that belonged to someone else, Finn swiped at the air with a hand as black as the walls. Smoke churned, and he caught sight of a jumbled shape on the floor.

Cora.

He roared, anguish tearing through him as he grabbed her limp body.

Another lay nearby, twisted and ghoullish, burnt beyond recognition.

Fabric crackled against his seared palm as he hoisted Cora’s body up and over his shoulder.

She didn’t cry out in pain.

His mind tore back to that day at the river, when he’d dragged her cold, dead body from the water.

Leave her behind. Dead weight. Save yourself.

He expected to hear those words again, but they never came. Perhaps it was because his beast was too busy howling instead, mourning a loss so great it was tearing them apart.

Finn stumbled toward the hallway. Thick smoke billowed out of the living room with him, clinging to him as he tried to force rubbery legs toward the front door.

Dim pain encroached on his muscles and arms. It grew stronger. Became agonizing.

He groaned, took a last thundering step, and pitched forward.

Cora’s body should have struck the ground, cushioning his fall. But something snatched her away before he could crush her under him.

Hands drew slivers of agony over his skin as they grappled him, but he fought free. He came to his feet, lungs aching as they pulled in nothing but suffocating smoke.

Then, cold air washed over him.

Oxygen sped into his lungs.

He coughed, retched, and tipped forward into soft sand that soothed his burning flesh. But there was still something chewing at his back. Dribbling acid saliva over his skin. If he could have moved, he would have tried to roll onto his back, but his body had become unresponsive.

Something wet, cold, heavy draped him. Stinging pain replaced that agonizing ache of fire before it returned threefold.

His beast howled. It writhed and twisted as it tried to get away from that all-encompassing pain.

But it couldn’t.

It was trapped here, with him, in his mind.

Its howls rang through Finn’s head, drowning out the ringing from the blast.

His lips stretched, cracking, oozing too-hot blood down his chin.

No, it wasn’t his beast howling.

It was him.