Page 102 of Playing with Fire

The realization sat like ice in my veins. My chest constricted so tightly I could barely draw breath. Phoenix had anticipated our communications setup. Had planned for it. Had neutralized our primary advantage before Xavier had even stepped through the door.

I switched frequencies again, fingers flying across the keyboard with desperate skill. "X, do you copy? Xavier? Respond on any channel."

Nothing but static hissed through my headphones, the sound like acid eating through my composure. We'd tested the equipment thoroughly before departure. Triple redundancies. Multiple channels. Emergency protocols. Everything had worked flawlessly during the approach.

Until it didn't.

"How long has he been inside?" I asked, unable to keep the edge from my voice.

"Twelve minutes, forty-seven seconds," Reid replied immediately. His training showing in the exactness of his response. "We'll initiate extraction protocols at the thirty-minute mark if we haven't reestablished contact."

Thirty minutes. An eternity when every second could mean the difference between life and death. My fingers tightened around the binoculars until the hard plastic bit into my skin, the pain a welcome distraction from the suffocating fear threatening to overwhelm me. I tasted copper. I'd bitten the inside of my cheek without realizing it.

Through the lenses, I could see Lieutenant Dawson's team positioned at strategic points around the perimeter, their forms ghostly green in night vision. Maxime stood rigid at the designated exchange point, a solitary figure whose rigid posture couldn't disguise the tension running through him.

I lowered the binoculars, focusing instead on the communications array. There had to be a way to cut through the interference. The familiar problem gave my racing mind something to latch onto. Patterns and frequencies instead of the image of Xavier lying bloodied and broken on a concrete floor.

A memory flashed through my mind. Xavier's hands on my throat, thumbs pressing into my pulse points as he'd whispered, "No one takes what's mine." The possessive hunger in his eyes when he'd marked my skin with bruises that I still carried. The demanding press of his fingers guiding my movements as I entered him, a reminder that even with me inside him, he owned every part of me, controlled every motion. The man who had shown me a darkness in myself I hadn't known existed until him.

I closed my eyes, seeking that darkness now, that cold analytical place that allowed me to function under unimaginable pressure. I remembered the first time I'd found it. During a firefight at the Junkyard Dogs compound when a rival mercenary group had ambushed us. I'd maintained the security systems while bullets pinged off the trailer walls around me, my hands steady even as chaos erupted outside. I was never a combat soldier, but Wattson had taught me well how to keep my head in a crisis.

Hail Mary, full of grace...The prayer rose unbidden, my abuela's voice echoing in my head. Once, I'd believed these prayers might save my soul. Now, I prayed they might save the man who had claimed that soul as his own.

"There's something wrong with the thermal readings," I said, frowning at the display. "The signatures we detected earlier... they're not moving like people should."

Reid glanced back at me, the movement sharp with sudden alert. "Meaning?"

"The heat sources are too stable. Too consistent." I pulled up the recorded data from our initial scan, comparing it to the current readings. "Human thermal signatures fluctuate. Blood flow, movement, respiration. These are... static."

A chill ran through me as realization dawned, my throat closing as if invisible hands were strangling me. "They're not people. They're devices."

"What kind of devices?" Reid asked, already reaching for his weapon.

The answer crystallized in my mind with horrifying clarity. "Incendiary packages. Has to be. The heat signature is consistent with military-grade accelerants in standby mode."

Reid was already keying his radio, voice tight with controlled urgency. "Dawson, we've got a situation. Astrada says the thermal signatures aren't hostiles. They're incendiaries. Burns has rigged the building."

The radio crackled. "Copy that. Hold position. Do not approach. Repeat, do not approach."

A flash of light cut through the night, so bright it momentarily blinded me even through the vehicle's tinted windows. The ground beneath us shuddered as a muffled boom reached our ears, followed by the distinctive roar of fire finding oxygen.

My heart stopped, pain lancing through my chest like someone had driven a blade between my ribs. My lungs refused to draw breath, my vision tunneling until all I could see was that inferno swallowing the building that held everything that mattered to me.

"Xavier!" The name tore from my throat as I lunged for the door, only to be restrained by Reid's iron grip on my arm. The blood drained from my face, my skin going cold and clammy with shock.

"Stay in the vehicle, Astrada," he ordered. "That's a direct command."

Through the windshield, I could see flames licking at the mill's windows, orange tongues hungrily devouring the darkness. Smoke billowed upward, black against the night sky, carrying the acrid scent of burning chemicals and metal. Behind my eyes, I saw Xavier engulfed by those same flames, his skin blackening, his mouth open in a silent scream.

"He's in there!" I fought against Reid's grip, my entire body trembling with adrenaline and fear. Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Xavier wouldn't cry. Xavier would act. "We need to go now!"

"Negative." Reid's voice was steel, unflinching despite the hell unfolding before us. "We follow extraction protocols. Lieutenant Dawson's team is moving to secure a perimeter. We maintain position until ordered otherwise."

"Fuck protocols!" The words exploded from me, raw and desperate. My nails dug crescents into my palms, drawing blood I didn't feel. "Felix just turned that place into an inferno. Without comms, Xavier doesn't know we're coming. He's alone in there!"

The thought of Xavier trapped in flames sent my mind spiraling to that night in his bedroom after he'd marked me with hot wax, his voice like gravel against my skin: "Fire is transformation. It cleanses. It purifies. It reveals what truly matters." Xavier, the man who used fire as his weapon, was now its prisoner.

Reid's expression remained professional, but his eyes betrayed a flash of genuine sympathy. "I understand your concern, but rushing in blind will only create more casualties."

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