Page 62 of Controlled Burn
Grief for the marriage that had rotted years ago. Grief for what it was doing to his kid. Grief for how badly he’d wanted to feel wanted again… and how stupid, how goddamn obvious, he’d been.
He didn’t look at the crew. Didn’t say a word.
He turned and walked straight into his office, shut the door, and buried his face in his hands. The citrusy ghost of Rachel’s perfume seemed to cling to his skin, sour and sharp. He wished—just for a heartbeat—that he could take Talia’s pain as his own, that he could shield her from every word, every stare, every accusation that was surely coming for her now.
Talia — Next Shift
The second she stepped into the bay, she felt it.
The silence was different now. Not curious. Not cold. Not just the usual sharp-edged scrutiny that came from being the only woman under 30 with a badge on her chest and something to prove.
It was predatory.
They knew.
She didn’t need to ask.
She walked slowly toward her locker, unzipping her hoodie and peeling it off like armor. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, bright and unfeeling. Someone laughed too loudly in the kitchen. A spoon clattered, too sharp, echoing in the heavy air.
No one greeted her.
She changed with steady hands. Pulled her uniform shirt over her shoulders and smoothed the collar. Twisted her hair into a ponytail so tight it pulled at the roots.
She caught Watts watching her from the bench, mouth curling in amusement. Watts didn’t need to say a word, buttoday she couldn’t resist, muttering just loud enough for Talia to hear, “Wrong locker room, Cross. Still don’t belong here.”
Talia’s pulse hammered in her throat. She slammed her locker just a little too hard, the sound cracking through the quiet. Brooks glanced up, face full of cowardice, before quickly looking away, pretending to care about the weather on his phone.
She kept her chin up, though her hands shook as she buttoned her shirt. She would not let them see her break—not now, not ever.
In the dayroom, “Morning,” she said, quiet but clear.
Kennedy flinched like she’d been caught stealing and offered a tight smile before quickly ducking her head. But a moment later, the medic’s gentle heart showed through—she slid a plate across the table toward Talia, wrapped in a napkin, with banana bread, her voice barely above a whisper: “I made extra if you want some.” There was sweetness in her eyes, the only warmth in a room turned arctic.
Watts leaned against the fridge, whispering to Jake, her voice sticky with gossip.
Brooks was suddenly deeply invested in the weather app on his phone.
Reyes looked up — really looked — but didn’t say anything—just a flicker of sympathy before he lowered his gaze.
Ryan gave her a flash of something else—a sadness, maybe even regret. And beneath it, a glint of jealousy when his eyes cut from Talia to Kennedy, lingering on the exchange with the banana bread. For a moment, Talia wanted to reach for him, for the safety of what could have been, but the urge died as quickly as it came.
And Dean?
Dean looked like hell.
Bloodshot eyes. Five o’clock shadow darkening his jaw. His shoulders braced like he was still waiting for the next hit to land.
She met his gaze. Held it for a beat.
Then walked right past.
“Morning, Captain,” she said coolly.
“Cross—”
“Save it,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. “We’ve got another inspection today.”
She didn’t look back.
