Page 92 of The Firefighter's Fate

“Thanks.”

It’s a mousey squeak from me.

Waylen has clearly ended this meeting. I take the cue and turn back to the door.

I stop and turn around.

“You have a good son, Waylen. A good son.”

He doesn’t say anything to that. I walk out.

46

CONNOR

“She came around here earlier. She was looking for you.”

Eric is waiting for me to reply to that juicy piece of information, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of a positive response. I merely glare at the man.

“Don’t talk about her again,” I mutter darkly.

“Ember? Never?”

“No.”

“Weren’t you two getting on? I don’t understand why you’ve turned like this, Connor. You guys were really hitting it off.”

I grunt.

“She’s just some city journalist who thinks she can write an article and then understand everything about a person.”

“She’s not that bad,” Eric says. “You know it.”

“She is.”

“You don’t really think that, Connor.”

I roll my eyes.

“Don’t assume what I think, Eric.”

The man scoffs.

“I think I can,” he replies.

Suddenly, the station alarm blares - a notification of an emergency. It’s the highest-level category for a fire. We’ve not had one of these for a hell of a long time.

What the...

Eric and I don’t have to wait for long to find out what’s happening – one of our colleagues runs into the room, panting.

He looks terrified.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

“The fire... it’s yours,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

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