Page 157 of Controlled Burn
She could feel her heartbeat in her teeth.
The crew stared back. King clapped—slow, loud, the only one bold enough to break the hush. Kennedy tried to smile, though her eyes were still glassy, her hands twisting in the sleeves of her hoodie. Reyes tipped his chin in the smallest show of respect, while Watts didn’t move at all, frozen in her chair. Across the table, Brooks only smiled—tight, mocking, the kind of smile you give to someone you know is already on the edge.
But it was Jake who chilled her the most. He sat still. Too still. Eyes half-lidded, arms crossed, mouth unreadable. Like he was already rewriting the narrative, the monster hiding under a human face.
She let her gaze rest on him for just a second too long. Let him know she saw him. And that he was next.
McKenna’s hand hovered near Talia’s elbow—a silent anchor.
“Temporary reassignment while Captain Maddox is on administrative leave. Lieutenant Cross will take over command.”
The fluorescent lights hummed, drowning out the awkward silence. The air was thick, close. Talia could smell the stale coffee and the sweat of gear, ozone, and nervous tension clinging to the walls.
She tried to stand taller, forcing her lips into a careful smile, her chin up, her shoulders squared.
They want you to flinch.
She would not.
She scanned the room, her eyes moving face by face.Is she ready? Is she strong enough? Is she clean?
She could still feel Kennedy’s weight in her arms from the night before. Still hear her whisper:He called me your name.
She remembered her father’s voice in her ear, back when she was just a probie:
You don’t get to be average. You want to survive in this place? You have to be extraordinary. Or they’ll eat you.
Her knuckles whitened against the edge of the podium. Her voice didn’t waver.
“I know a lot is going on. I’m not here to play favorites or settle old scores. We have a job. We do it right. Nobody gets left behind.”
She let the words hang.
“They want women to be quiet or perfect. I’m neither.”
Applause broke out—halfhearted, unsure—but it came.
When the last of them filed out, she slumped into the battered chair behind the lieutenant’s desk. The office was silent, blinds drawn, light leaking in around the edges. She pressed her palm to her chest, feeling the rush of adrenaline finally thinning, replaced by something raw and hollow.
She stared at the blank desktop, pulse echoing in her ears. The scent of stale paper and sweat, the faint tang of her deodorant beneath the uniform shirt—it all made her feel more like a child playing dress-up than a leader.
The keys to the supply closet sat beside her elbow. Her hands shook as she reached for her phone, needing something—anything—to ground her.
A ping shattered the quiet.
Anonymous. Encrypted. Disappears in sixty seconds.
She clicked without thinking.
A video played—her body, arched in the turnout room, sweat-darkened skin and a face blurred in motion. A moan played on loop, the audio slowed and layered, turned into something weaponized and obscene. The footage cut away before the climax, but the implication was enough. The bile rose in her throat.
A second message:
They won’t follow a slut. Let’s see how long you last.
She stared at the screen until the video vanished.
Her throat pulsed. Her hands curled into fists so tight, her nails bit half-moons into her palms. She could still hear her voice in that loop—warped into something slutty and stupid. A weapon forged from intimacy.
