Before it’s too late

Isabel’s POV

The living room is quiet, save for the soft buzz of ambient music. I sit across from the officers, their uniforms crisp, their notepads untouched. Beside me, my mother watches them, unreadable. The weight of the condo fire hangs in the air like the smoke that once swallowed the building.

“So,” my mother begins, voice calm but firm, “any lead so far?”

One of the officers exhales, a tired sound I’ve grown used to. That sigh—it’s always the prelude to bad news. The usual line about how they’re still investigating, how these things take time, how it might not be what we think.

I already know what’s coming.

I snap, leaning forward with a bitter scoff. “Don’t tell me it’s what I’m thinking. That this fire wasn’t intentional. That it was just… a random, tragic accident.”

My mother’s hand slides over mine, grounding me. A silent reminder to breathe. To stay calm.

“It’s not like that, ma’am,” the taller officer replies quickly. “Actually, our f