The school bell had rung ten minutes ago. The campus was a chaotic sea of teenagers, yellow buses, and parents idling in massive SUVs. I scanned the crowd, looking for that familiar mess of curly brown hair. I didn’t see her.

I walked past the main entrance, my combat boots crunching softly on the concrete. My duffel bag was heavy on my shoulder, but I didn’t feel the weight. I just felt the adrenaline of proximity.

“Excuse me, sir?” a crossing guard called out, eyeing my uniform with a mix of respect and confusion. “Can I help you?”

“Just looking for my daughter,” I said, forcing a polite smile that didn’t reach my eyes. My eyes were too busy scanning the perimeter. Old habits die hard; you always check the corners, the shadows.

That’s when I saw the smoke.

It wasn’t a lot. Just a thin, grey ribbon curling up from behind the football bleachers, near the edge of the woods that bordered the school property.