Four

Please believe that I'm not trying to make this melodramatic. I loved her, and she was burned. She got burned.

The hostel we had been staying in was getting crowded, so we moved to a hotel down the street.

An artist in it had, apparently, said some things about the rioters.

They set fire to the hotel. Lucy was on the 31st floor. She never even had a chance.

Ashes were still falling from the sky long after the firemen put out the fire. I sat on a bench across the street, the street in front of me littered with trash.

My phone rang. I knew it was the Jack.

I picked it up.