She ripped off her glove, pressed trembling fingers to his neck. Pulse. Weak, but there.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” she snarled. “Stay with me, Maddox!”
He coughed, blood flecking his lips. His eyes fluttered, trying to focus.
The RIT crew crashed in behind her, boots pounding, tools clattering. One dropped a spare mask and bottle. Talia jammed it on, valve twisting, praying as his chest hitched—air filling him again.
She pulled at the debris, glass biting her palms, every muscle screaming. Backup voices shouted in her ear. She didn’t stop.
Brent’s hands closed on Dean’s legs. Together they hauled, inch by brutal inch.
Then—fresh air. The sky, ugly and bright. Rain hissing on smoldering shingles.
Medics swarmed. Kennedy knelt beside him, calm and fierce, barking orders as if she’d been waiting her whole life to prove she wasn’t weak.
Talia staggered back, helmet clattering against the rig, lungs heaving. Her whole body shook. Rage, relief, grief—all tangled into something feral.
Maddox
His eyes cracked open. He saw her—bare, desperate, feral.
“You pulled me out?” he rasped, voice like gravel.
“I always do,” she said, voice shredded, hands trembling.
Talia
They loaded him into the ambulance. Kennedy climbed in after,pressing the mask tighter over his face. The doors slammed shut with a hollow clang that echoed in her chest.
Talia didn’t follow. She couldn’t.
She braced herself on the rig, metal biting her palms through the gloves. The world spun—sirens, smoke, shouting—but she stayed standing.
Her radio chirped again—another alarm, another fireground order.
She wiped her eyes, shoved her helmet back on, and squared her shoulders.
Dean Maddox was her past.
But this—this heat, this chaos, this fight?
This was her future.
She strode back toward the smoke, boots thudding, body aching but unbroken.
She didn’t need saving anymore.
She was the fire.
The one no one could contain.
The one that would burn long after his last shift was over.
The one the world would never put out.
Chapter 63
Ashes and Authority