Page 38 of Controlled Burn
Sitting neatly on the top shelf was a single black hair tie. Hers. The one she’d left in Maddox’s bunk the night everything came undone. She hadn’t even realized it was missing until now.
But he had.
He’d found it, held onto it, and tucked it here. No note. No message. Just a silent reminder: We’re not done.
Talia reached out slowly, like it might burn her. She looped it around her wrist, tight enough to feel. Her pulse thudded beneath it—a secret brand.
Her locker door clanged shut louder than she meant. The hallway outside was eerily quiet. Someone had propped open the rear bay doors to air out the place, letting in the faint scent of diesel and cut grass. Daylight slanted in, catching dust motes and firehose shadows.
Most of the crew had packed up. Her shift was over.
She should have left. But her feet didn’t move.
“Talia.” She turned, startled.
Lt. McKenna stood at the end of the corridor, clipboard in hand, posture crisp despite the long shift. Her dark hair was pulled into a perfect knot—not a strand out of place. She always looked composed. Not cold, just unreadable. Controlled. A woman who had fought to be taken seriously every step of the way—and now commanded respect by simply standing still.
Talia liked her. Trusted her. Which made this worse.
“Got a sec?” McKenna’s voice was smooth but edged.
“Of course, Lieutenant.” Talia straightened instinctively, tucking the towel under her arm.
McKenna stepped closer. “Rough shift.”
Talia hesitated. “Yeah. That extrication was brutal.”
“You did good work on the patient. Steady hands. Focused.” Then her tone shifted. “But I also saw what happened between Hastings and Maddox.”
Talia’s stomach tightened.
“Jake’s been toeing the line for weeks. I’ve written him up twice for side talk and insubordination. And Maddox…” She exhaled. “He’s walking a razor’s edge.”
“I’m not—” Talia started, then stopped. She didn’t want to sound defensive. Or guilty.
McKenna waited.
“I’m not trying to cause problems. I just want to do the job.”
“I believe you.” McKenna’s tone stayed level, not accusatory—just grounded. “But things are starting to slip. Tempers are flaring. Eyes are on everyone.”
Talia nodded, slowly.
McKenna glanced at her clipboard, then back up. “You’ve got talent. You’ve got grit. But grit doesn’t save you if you ignore the terrain. And right now, this place is full of sinkholes.”
Talia blinked.
“I’m not asking if you’re involved with anyone,” McKenna said bluntly. “I don’t want to know unless it affects the job. But Maddox can’t afford distractions. Neither can you. Not with Jake acting like this. Not with the pressure we’re under.”
Talia’s voice came quieter than she meant. “I understand.”
“Good.” McKenna nodded. “Stay sharp, Cross. Keep your head down. Don’t let anyone write your story for you.”
She turned and walked off, heels echoing like a metronome down the corridor.
Talia stood frozen, heart thudding. She could still feel the hair tie on her wrist. Still smell the trace of ash and sweat on her gear. Her pulse hadn’t slowed.
The station was watching. Every move. Every glance. Every mistake
