His voice was so hoarse that for a moment, he couldn''t be sure if it was Fitch on the other end. But who else would be reckless enough to rush in at a moment like this?


    "Fitch!" he yelled, pushing him down to smother the fire.


    The back of Fitch''s suit jacket was nearly burnt to a crisp, the scent of char lingering in the air, yet he seemed oblivious to the pain. Amidst the ze, there was no sign of Zoey. Could something have happened to her? Where could she be? Where was the mother of the child that had just been born?


    "Even if you''ve got a death wish, think about the kid still fighting for life in the hospital,"n said, trying to ground him.


    A glimmer of moisture shed across Fitch''s eyes, pulling him back from the brink of his own personal hell.


    "Besides, ask yourself who brought the kid back. What the hell happened? How did Zoey give birth?"


    Fitch''s voice was almost gone, his face caked in soot. At a fire scene, you expect ash and smoke, but his face was now only recognizable by his eyes.


    "Let''s get you to the hospital. You trying to die of tetanus or something? The kid''s still in critical condition; you can''t afford to copse."


    Fitch had lost all sense of reason, all sense of measure. Numbly, he wiped his cheek, revealing a patch of unscathed skin-his face was safe, at least. But his back was a different story. His head was in too much pain, the shock and terror of receiving the child too fresh to process.


    "Fitch,e with me. And no


    offense, but if even the trees didn''t


    survive, if Zoey is still in there... she''s nothing but ashes now. Take care of the kid. If something happens to him, you''ll never be able to face Zoey, not even in the afterlife."


    Stretchers were being rolled in, but Fitch felt too alert to pass out.


    "Let''s go to the hospital. Check on the kid."


    He sat upright in the ambnce, a rigid figure amidst the medics who were too intimidated by his grim demeanor to approach his wounds.


    Upon reaching the hospital, Fitch, driven by instinct, sprinted toward the children''s ward. The news was grim: the child was still in resuscitation.


    "Sorry, you can''t go in right now. We need to maintain a sterile environment," a nurse told him.


    Fitch sat on a hallway chair, his hair singed at the ends. He''d always been the epitome ofposure and coolness, but now he looked almostical-though no one passing by dared to speak to him.


    The child was in the care of the most renowned pediatric team, their foreheads slick with sweat. For two days, they fought to stabilize the child, who was then ced into an incubation chamber.


    Fitch stood up, his legs numb, and approached the chamber. The baby was premature, frail from the start, destined for months in the observation box.


    Fitch was silent, the pain in his heart unbearable, especially as he looked upon the child''s face. He even bent down slightly, the only way to bear the physical weight pressing down on him.