Page 54 of Controlled Burn
She turned away.
Walked down the opposite corridor.
No words. No glance back.
And Dean didn’t follow. He watched her walk away, hands clenched at his sides, every muscle aching for more.
Because he wasn’t sure which one of them had walked through the fire.
But they were both still burning.
Chapter 20
Smoke Signals
Talia
She felt it the second she stepped into the kitchen.
The air had changed. Heavy and still, like the aftermath of a backdraft. Conversation had vanished. No, Brooks is doing his ridiculous Al Pacino impression. No, Jake, trash-talking last night's game. No idle banter about calls or weather or who owed who coffee. Just the dull scrape of forks on plates, the buzz of the overhead lights, and a silence that cut sharp as glass. The fluorescent bulbs cast everything in a cold, unnatural glow, making faces look pale and washed out. The faint, greasy smell of bacon and burned toast lingered, mixing with the chemicaltang of cleaner. It should've felt like any other morning, but Talia could sense the shift in the room as keenly as smoke in her lungs.
Talia froze in the doorway, fingers tightening around her mug.
Jake mumbled a flat, "Morning," without looking up from his eggs. Brooks didn't even glance her way—just gave her a flicker of eye contact, all cowardice and discomfort, then went back to staring at his plate. Reyes shifted in his seat, his thumb skimming his phone like she hadn't entered the room at all.
Only Kennedy—bless her oblivious, open-hearted soul—gave her a genuine smile, a quiet little beam as she peeled a banana at the far end of the table. The medic was still too new, too green to read the shift in the room. Or maybe she wasn't green—perhaps she was just kind.
"Hey, Talia, you want some of this banana bread?" Kennedy asked, voice soft but hopeful, holding up a napkin-wrapped slice.
Talia forced a smile. "Maybe in a bit."
Talia took the seat farthest from Watts.
The older firefighter sat like a queen on her throne, arms crossed, lips curled in that smug, poisonous smile that said everything without a word. Coffee untouched. Eyes glittering. The kind of look that told Talia she hadn't just imagined this shift—Watts had caused it.
As Talia sat, Watts leaned in, barely moving her lips. "You don't belong here. Not really," she breathed, voice so low only Talia could hear. The words landed like an ember in her gut.
Her stomach twisted.
Watts had been coming for her since week one. Whether it was jealousy, spite, or old-school resentment about Talia's place on a crew that trusted her fast—especially Maddox—she didn't know. Didn't care. She hadn't risen to it before and hadn't given Watts the satisfaction.
But this morning? This silence? The weird stiffness from everyone?
Watts had said something.
Talia forced herself to drink. Swallowed her fear with lukewarm coffee and smiled like her stomach wasn't clenched in a vise. She wouldn't give that woman the win. Not here. Not like this.
Still, every second at that table felt like being slowly gutted. Jake laughed when Ryan said something low, but the laugh didn't reach his eyes. Brooks cleared his throat when she asked him to pass the butter, but he didn't say a word—his glance darted away, guilt written plain. Even Ryan—usually the most grounded, decent one of them all—gave her a look she couldn't quite read. Not unkind. Just cautious. Like she might blow up in his hands. Like she was radioactive.
Talia cleaned her plate and left early, heartbeat thudding behind her ribs, mug trembling just enough to slosh the last dregs of coffee onto her hand. She barely noticed.
The bay was quiet when she slipped in for truck checks. She clung to the rhythm—tire pressure, hose line, inventory—anything to stay moving. To stay useful. Her breath fogged in the cooler air, and she wiped her hands down her turnout pants like she could scrub the tension off her skin.
She found herself near the aerial, eyes scanning instinctively for Ryan. When she spotted him, he was rolling up a small length of hose, brows knit. He glanced her way.
Their eyes met.
Talia arched a brow, an invitation.
