I walked back outside.
The paramedics were putting oxygen masks on the kids. The mum was still dry heaving. The dad looked pale, disoriented.
"How long were you inside?" I asked him.
"We went to bed around 10," he said. His words were slurred. "Woke up maybe 20 minutes ago. Something felt wrong."
"You got lucky," I said. "Another hour and we'd be having a very different conversation."
I went back inside to find the source.
Combi boiler in the utility room. Heat exchanger had a crack you could barely see. Every time it fired up, carbon monoxide leaked into the ductwork and spread through the whole house.
Classic case.
But here's what got me.
As I was walking through the hallway, I saw it.
A carbon monoxide detector.
Plugged into the wall socket. Little green light glowing.
I checked my meter again. 67 PPM right where I was standing.
The detector was silent.
I pulled it off the wall and brought it outside.
The dad saw me holding it.
"That's supposed to keep us safe," he said. "Why didn't it go off?"
I turned it over and checked the back.
FireAngel. Manufactured in 2024.
"When did you buy this?" I asked.
"Six months ago. Right after we moved in. Got it at B&Q."
"You test it?"
"Every month. It always beeps. The green light's always on."
I showed them the reading on my meter.
"This detector is brand new. It's working perfectly. The sensor is fine. The battery is fine. The speaker works."
"Then why didn't it go off?" the dad asked.
"Because it's designed to wait until you hit 50 parts per million before it alarms. And even then — it can take up to 90 minutes before it makes a sound."
They stared at me.
"Your levels were at 67. It was doing exactly what it's supposed to do."
"But we were dying," the mum said.
"I know."