The cat looked over its shoulder.

Its ears flattened.

Then it turned back and scratched again, harder.

Daniel crouched until his face was almost level with it. The glass separated them by less than the length of his hand.

He could see the whiskers.

He could see the mouth opening.

He could barely hear the cry.

He checked the frame. One hinged pane. A handle on the right. No bars.

For a moment, it looked simple.

The first pull told him otherwise.

The handle shifted, but the window remained shut.

He adjusted his grip and tried again. The frame rattled. The cat flinched, lowering its body before rising toward the glass once more.

Daniel stopped pulling.

Force without a plan would only waste time.

He reported the animal’s location over his radio, then reached for the short tool at his side. His crew knew where he was. Help was close, but the cat was closer.

He placed the tool against the seam beside the latch.

Inside, the smoke was changing the room.

The chair had lost its clear outline. The doorway was becoming a dark rectangle with moving edges. A layer of gray passed behind the cat, thin enough to see through, then thick enough to hide the far wall.

Daniel pressed against the tool.

Metal complained.

The latch held.

The cat’s paws moved faster.

There was something painfully domestic about those paws.

They belonged on a kitchen counter where they were not allowed, or beneath a sofa while their owner tried to retrieve a stolen ribbon.

They belonged tapping at a bedroom door before breakfast.

Daniel had a sudden picture of someone on the other side of this emergency calling for the animal without knowing which room it had entered.

He pushed the thought away.

There would be time for names later.

For now, there was a latch, a frame, and an opening that needed to exist.

He changed the angle of the tool.

The cat crouched.

A heavier ribbon of smoke moved over the sill.

Its head turned sharply toward the room, then back toward him. For an instant, it appeared caught between two dangers: the air behind it and the unmoving glass ahead.

Then it jumped.

Daniel saw the striped back curve downward.

The tail vanished last.

The scratching stopped.

He looked immediately toward the bottom of the window.

Nothing.

The sill blocked his view of the floor directly beneath it.

He leaned closer, trying to follow the movement through the glass, but his own reflection returned in fragments. Helmet. Mask. Glove. Smoke.

He could no longer see the bed.

He set his feet and applied pressure again.

This time, something shifted.

Not much.

Enough.