Without thinking, I threw myself at the door and stumbled inside. My eyes and ears burned while my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. It couldn't be Baba...could it? My mind played tricks. He'd been shot by Lager. If I dared think about it, I'd still feel the spray of his warm blood across my face. He was dead. He should've been dead, and yet even though he hated me, a sliver of hope slipped through my closed throat.

"Baba?"

A weighted, eternal pause, and then, ...