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The girls woke to the smell of smoke.
“Baba?” Salma’s voice was small, but alert.
“I’m here,” Yassine said immediately, kneeling beside them. “Get up, both of you. We have to go outside.”
Lina rubbed her eyes. “Is it morning?”
“It is.”
“Why does it smell bad?”
Yassine forced a smile. “Because the wind is being rude today.”
Salma sat up, already understanding more than her sister. “Is the fire here?”
“Not yet.”
“But it will be.”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he helped them dress quickly—simple clothes, sturdy shoes. He wrapped scarves around their mouths and noses, tying them gently but firmly.
“Stay close to me,” he said. “No matter what.”
Salma nodded.
Lina mimicked her.
The sky outside looked wrong.
It was too dark for morning, too bright for night. Ash drifted through the air like gray snow, settling on their hair and shoulders. In the distance, beyond the line of trees, a wall of orange flickered and surged.
The fire was coming.
Yassine didn’t waste time.
He led them up the narrow path behind the house, toward the fir.
Lina stumbled once, and he scooped her up without breaking stride. Salma kept pace, her small hand gripping the back of his shirt.
“Baba,” she said, her voice muffled by the scarf. “Are we going to the fort?”
“Yes.”
“Will it keep us safe?”
He hesitated.
Then: “It will try.”
The fir stood where he had left it.
Weathered. Silent. Waiting.
Up close, it looked almost too simple to matter—just wood and earth, patched together with care and stubbornness. But Yassine knew every inch of it. Every weak point. Every strength.
He set Lina down.
“Listen to me,” he said, crouching so he was at their level. “You’re going to go inside. Both of you. And you’re going to stay there until I come back for you.”
Salma’s eyes widened. “You’re not coming with us?”
“I will. Soon. I just need to do something first.”
“What?”
“Make sure it’s safe.”
“That’s not true,” she said immediately.
Yassine blinked.
“You’re lying,” Salma continued, her voice trembling now. “You only say that when something is wrong.”
He swallowed.
Children always knew.
He placed his hands gently on her shoulders. “I need you to be brave for me.”
“I am brave.”
“I know. That’s why I’m asking you.”
Lina tugged at his sleeve. “Baba, I’m scared.”
He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly. “I know, habibti. I know.”
The fire crackled louder in the distance.
Time was running out.
Inside, the fir was dim but calm.
Yassine had prepared it as best he could—containers of water, thick blankets, a small lantern, even a few pieces of bread wrapped in cloth. The air was cooler here, the walls thick enough to muffle the growing roar outside.
He guided them in.
“Stay low,” he instructed. “If the air gets hot, lie on the ground. Cover yourselves with the blankets.”
Salma nodded, though tears were now slipping down her cheeks.
“Baba…” she whispered.
He knelt in front of them.
For a moment, he didn’t speak.
He just looked at them—memorizing every detail. The curve of their faces, the color of their eyes, the way Lina clung to Salma’s arm.
“I love you,” he said finally.
“Come with us,” Salma pleaded.
“I will,” he repeated.
It wasn’t a promise.
It was a wish.
He stepped outside and pulled the door shut.
Then he reinforced it—adding an extra beam, packing dirt along the edges, sealing it as tightly as he could.
The heat was stronger now.
The wind had shifted again.
The fire was closer.
Yassine took a deep breath, then turned toward the house.
There was one more thing he needed to do.
The flames reached the edge of the property within minutes.
They moved faster than he had imagined—leaping from tree to tree, devouring everything in their path. The sound was overwhelming now, a constant, furious roar that drowned out all thought.
Yassine worked quickly.
He soaked what he could—walls, ground, anything that might slow the spread. He tore down dry branches, cleared debris, fought against something that could not be fought.
Smoke filled his lungs.
His eyes burned.
Still, he didn’t stop.
Because stopping meant thinking.
And thinking meant fear.
At some point, he realized the house was lost.
The flames had already begun to climb the outer walls, licking at the roof, finding every weakness.
There was nothing more to save here.
Nothing except—
He turned back toward the hill.
Toward the fir.
Toward his daughters.
The path was harder to see now.
Smoke and ash blurred everything, turning the world into a shifting haze of gray and orange. The heat pressed against him from all sides, heavy and relentless.