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I nod.

For the next hour, I work with an intense focus, directing three teams, coordinating efforts to put out the fire, while retrieving the animals.

My crew carry out puppies, pull dogs on leashes, and cradle kittens in their arms.

Sophie and the Omega, who appears to be smitten with her, work as a good team. They are committed, counting and calming the animals in the exercise yard.

The manager, however, panics and fusses around the edges.

I choke on the deepening plumes of smoke. My nose wrinkles at the reek of burned plastic, soaked timber and ash.

My boots are puddled with black water, which runs from the doorway.

The surge of adrenaline that has kept me alert for the last couple of hours has settled into a heavier exhaustion.

My shoulders slump with relief, however, when I see both my lieutenant and captain emerging from the buildings with their crews.

I quickly count them to make sure that they are all out.

The crews’ gloves and knees are smeared with soot. Water drips from their helmets and coats.

Walker and Judd pull off their facepieces, as they tiredly trudge toward me.

Walker pats the lieutenant on the shoulder.

I arch my brow. "Everybody out?"

Judd nods.

"Whole crew,” Walker replies.

"Confirm that."

"Confirmed, Chief."

At last, I allow myself to smile. "Good work."

Paige’s sister snatches me by the elbow. “Your crew are out but one of the cats is missing. I only counted nineteen, and there should be twenty.”

My stomach drops.

I turn to the manager. “You told me that the count was twenty and that we’d rescued all the animals.”

The manager shifts from foot to foot, avoiding my gaze. “Nineteen or twenty, what does it matter? This cat is never going to be adopted anyway. Cornbread is a waste of fur.”

“Cornbread?” Sophie’s eyes glimmer with tears. “You asshole. You know that I promised to adopt her. My sister offered to let her live at her place after her heat.”

This will be Paige’s cat? She will live at her inn?

Cold fury surges through me. “You telling me the wrong number matters because I need a fucking accurate count. I just made an operational decision based on faulty information. I’ll report this.”

I take a step toward the manager. He backs up, paling.

I stop myself. I don’t have time for this.

“When I ask how many living things,” I say through clenched teeth, “who turned you into a god who decides whether a cat is worth saving?” I turn to Judd. Despite his exhaustion, he instantly straightens his shoulders. “Hold your crew. We have one cat unaccounted for. We will⁠—”

“I know where she will be,” Sophie says. “Cornbread has a favorite hiding place.”