Yellow police tape fluttered weakly in the autumn wind.

Walking through the debris was a visceral nightmare. My boots crunched over shattered glass and ruined memories. I saw the blackened frame of the piano where Mom used to play.

I felt a genuine sob catch in my throat, but I swallowed it down, weaponizing the grief.

Arthur hovered uncomfortably near the unstable remnants of the basement stairs, his eyes darting around nervously. He was sweating despite the chill in the air.

I kicked aside a piece of charred drywall and deliberately pointed my uninjured hand toward a warped, heavy metal filing cabinet that had fallen halfway down the stairwell, partially buried in ash.

“Oh, God,” I gasped, feigning panic. “Dad… the cabinet.”