Page 25 of Controlled Burn
Dean
They brought Dean into the battalion office before he’d finished his coffee. It sat abandoned on the counter, steam fading like his patience.
The HR rep sat across the table, stiff-backed, lips pursed, every movement deliberate. She unfolded a typed complaint with the kind of reverence reserved for criminal affidavits.
“Captain Maddox has demonstrated clear favoritism and gender bias. He consistently undermines female firefighters, uses intimidation tactics, and creates a hostile environment for women.”
Dean didn’t respond. He clenched his jaw, every muscle locked in careful control, waiting for the storm he knew was coming.
He’d learned early how to dissociate—to quiet his body, lock down his expression, let accusations slide past like rain off bunker gear. Ten years of leading from the front, burying his thoughts, keeping everything clean, tight, controlled.
But now? Now the edges were fraying.
“The complaint was submitted anonymously,” the rep continued, folding the page with clinical precision. “But the context makes it fairly obvious who it came from.”
Watts. Of course, it was Watts.
After the locker room fight. After Cross had shoved her. After Dean had pulled them aside, warned them, and walked away, thinking it was enough.
But Watts didn’t want justice; she wanted punishment—not just for Cross, but for him.
Dean measured each breath, carefully and precisely, every word he might say calculated and weighed. He knew the drill too well, how quickly whispers of misconduct could dismantle a spotless career.
Because this wasn’t about negligence, it was about the truth he hadn’t dared speak.
He felt it—need, sharp and uninvited—for someone he had no business wanting. A rookie barely past twenty. For a woman who stared at him as if he were worth following into an inferno. For Talia Cross.
Flashback – Talia, Age 14
He’d come home still reeking of smoke, soot crusted in the folds of his collar. Her mother had tried to greet him with a glass of water, a smile, something soft.
“Not now,” he grunted, brushing past them both.
Talia had followed anyway. She always did. He sat in his chair, the one that creaked with his weight and smelled faintly of char. He didn’t look at her, not even when she asked if he had seen the news about her science award.
“You were born for more than ribbons,” he said without lifting his gaze. “Don’t get soft on me.”
She remembered how her throat had closed up, the plastic plaque still warm in her hand. It was the first time she realized love could feel like pressure.
Later – The Apparatus Bay
His coffee was cold by the time he returned, bitterness lingering on his tongue.
The bay buzzed with tension—low murmurs, glances, whispers passed quietly like embers shifting beneath ash. That kind of shift energy that spreads fast, gnawing at everyone’s nerves.
And Cross? She paced, a restless force contained within the bay, her hair half escaping its bun, chestnut tendrils clinging stubbornly to sweat-dampened skin. Her expression sharp, every movement tight—like a fighter waiting for the bell.
“Watts went to HR,” Talia hissed, voice razor-edged the instant she saw him. “I knew she would. And she dragged you down with her.”
Dean didn’t respond, just watched her, captivated. The way she burned—fierce, unapologetic. The protective fire blazing in her eyes, loyalty stark in the sharpness of her tone.
“I’ll go on record,” she said firmly, defiance radiating off her in waves. “The whole crew will. You’ve never mistreated me. You push us—all of us—because that’s the job. I earned my spot.”
Dean blinked, momentarily disarmed by her conviction.
“You’d do that?” he asked, his voice quieter than intended, dangerously close to revealing vulnerability.
Talia glanced toward the empty hallway, then back at him, steady, cool, unyielding.
