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Blood runs from a cut near his hairline.

“You look terrible,” Arthur tells him.

Kane glances at Arthur’s swelling cheek.

“You look worse.”

They grip each other’s shoulders.

One second.

That is all we need.

Then we turn toward the burning house.

“Where’s the third man?” I ask.

Kane looks at me.

“What third man?”

“The one you followed from the service station.”

“He was already gone when I arrived.”

“That leaves at least one unaccounted for.”

“He may be inside.”

I look at the house.

Flames fill the front rooms.

A window explodes.

Glass rains across the porch.

Sirens sound in the distance.

Too late for the backpack.

Maybe too late for the house.

Kane touches my arm.

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault.”

“I should have gotten here sooner.”

“You got here.”

I stare at the flames.

This property gave seven former Delta operators somewhere to start over.

We built Iron Ridge with our own hands.