Smoke in the Threads

My phone rang so abruptly it felt like a needle scratching across vinyl in my brain. The sound cut through the low hum of the room, startling me enough that I fumbled it before catching it against my palm.

“I—excuse me a moment,” I murmured to Mike, already stepping away, my pulse doing strange staccato beats.

The name flashing on the screen made my gut twist. Nadia – Atelier Assistant. She never called unless it was important.

“Ma’am—” Her voice was high, choppy with panic. “The atelier—your atelier—it’s on fire.”

The words punched the air out of my lungs.

“What?”

“Fire—smoke everywhere—the fire service is here...