Tragedy at a college party

The call came in just after midnight, splitting the velvet hush of Athena Grant’s apartment wide open. She’d been sitting at her kitchen table, spoon swirling honey into her tea, Bobby’s laughter still echoing in her ears from dinner a half hour before. She’d had big plans for her weekend: a long soak in the tub, maybe yoga, maybe even a lazy brunch with Harry if he was up for it. The kind of plans you make when you believe—just for a second—that the world will let you rest.

But the world, Athena knew, had teeth.

She recognized the dispatcher’s voice, clipped and urgent: “Multiple casualties, fire at a warehouse near NYU. Possible arson. All available units respond.” There was something about the way he said “multiple”—the catch in his breath, the way it thudded through her chest—that told Athena this wasn’t just another college party gone wrong.

Athena was already moving, grabbing her kit, sliding into boots, locking the door behind her. She didn’t text May, though the thought flickered by. May was probably asleep—she had an early shift at the coffee shop, or she was out with friends, or she was, as always, safe.

The warehouse was chaos when Athena arrived. Red and blue lights strobed across the faces of students huddled on the curb, their cheeks smeared with soot and shock. Firefighters moved through the haze, barking orders, boots echoing on slick concrete. Ambulances idled with their doors open, ready to swallow the freshly wounded.

A fire captain flagged her down. “Front half’s clear for your team, Detective. We’re still working the back.”

How many out?” she asked.

Thirty, maybe. Six at the hospital, the rest got out the windows. Both main exits were blocked. Some kind of barricade.”

And fatalities?”

Three up front, maybe four in the back. Too soon to say.”

Athena nodded, jaw tight. She pulled on gloves, set her kit down, and started snapping photos. The air was heavy with the scent of wet ash and something metallic underneath—a smell she’d never gotten used to.

She was hunched over the first victim when Bobby’s voice cut through the static in her head.

So is it my turn to tell you to go home this time?”

He tried to smile, but it didn’t last. His eyes flicked to the bodies, the blackened floor.

Blocked exits, accelerant,” he murmured, his voice low. “Someone wanted to kill a lot of people tonight.”

Athena swallowed, throat dry. “Thank God for those windows.”

Bobby nodded. “You finish photos, I’ll start on trace?”

She nodded, and he moved off, shoulders hunched. Athena kept working, methodical, the camera clicking as she documented the victims. She tried to shut out the details: the melted shoes, the scorched hair, the way two of the bodies lay tangled together near the broken windows.

She knelt by them, drawing closer for ID shots. The boy on the bottom wore a gold watch, warped by heat but still recognizable. Athena’s pulse spiked. She’d picked out that same watch with May for Jeremy’s birthday. But this was New York. That watch could be on a hundred wrists tonight. She forced herself to keep moving, hands steady.

The girl above him was curled protectively, arm thrown over his chest. Athena reached for a wallet, its leather burned but not completely destroyed. Her heart thudded as she pried it open, squinting at the melted plastic inside.

New York State driver’s license. The photo was gone, but the name—

Her breath caught.

No. No, it couldn’t be. She’d just talked to May this afternoon. She was supposed to be at home, safe, not here, not—

Athena?”

She heard Bobby’s voice, distant and muffled, as if underwater. She couldn’t breathe. The world shrank to the ID in her hand, the impossible name burned into her vision.

Athena!” His hands gripped her shoulders, turning her. “Breathe. Athena, breathe!” He shook her, panic in his eyes. Finally, her lungs spasmed, and she dragged in a ragged gasp, collapsing against him.

He held her, rocking her as she shook, her fingers knotted in his shirt. He pried the wallet from her hand, saw the name, and his face crumpled.

Oh, my God. Oh, Athena…”

She didn’t remember being carried out, didn’t feel the ground when he laid her down, didn’t hear Hen’s orders as the paramedics gathered. Grief pressed in from all sides, a crushing, suffocating weight.

She was only dimly aware of the others—Buck’s voice, Hen’s steady hands, Chimney and Eddie moving through the scene like ghosts. She saw Bobby’s face, red-rimmed eyes, the way his hands trembled when he zipped the kit closed.

They’ll need to confirm all the IDs,” Bobby said to Hen, voice raw. “But—May’s gone. Athena found her.”

Buck staggered, disbelief etched on his face. “No. That can’t be right.”

It’s her, Buck. I wish it wasn’t.”

Athena’s mind drifted in and out, fragments of memory surfacing: May’s laugh, her quick wit, the way she always called at midnight just to say goodnight. Athena thought of Harry, sleeping at a friend’s house, and felt a fresh wave of pain.

Later, Athena sat on the bumper of an ambulance, blanket around her shoulders. Bobby joined her, quiet, his presence a small anchor in the storm. She told him about calling Michael, about how she’d begged the FBI to send someone in person.

I just… I can’t tell him this over the phone,” she whispered.

Bobby squeezed her hand. “He’ll have someone with him. That’s good.”

And Harry’s still at James’s. I didn’t want to bring him home, not yet. Sarah said she’d keep him offline until morning.”

She stood, swaying slightly. “Bobby, will you—will you be there when I tell Harry? I don’t know if I can do it alone.”

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight as she broke, sobs wracking her body.

I’m here, Athena,” he said, voice thick. “I’ll be here. Whatever you need.”

She clung to him, grief hollowing her out, but somehow she knew she’d survive this. Because Bobby was right. She wasn’t alone. And in the darkness, that was something like hope.