Page 63 of Controlled Burn
At her locker, she almost let the tears come. Almost. But she swallowed them down with the rest of her pride, slipped on her uniform, and stepped back into the fire. Every breath tasted like metal. The weight of a hundred stares pressed her shoulders lower with every step.
Scene: The Office
HR arrived before lunch.
Two reps — one man, one woman. Polished and perfumed. Smiling like executioners.
They asked for a quiet room. The bay turned cold.
Two interviews.
Talia first.
She sat stiff in a folding chair that smelled faintly of mildew and Lysol. The female rep smiled too much. The male one didn’t blink enough.
“No,” she said. “I haven’t been harassed.”
“No, I’m not romantically involved with anyone in the chain of command.”
“Yes, I’ve read the conduct manual.”
“Yes, I understand the department’s policy on fraternization.”
Click. Click. Notes. Boxes checked.
Then—
“Do you feel targeted by other women in the department?”
The pen paused.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Talia forced herself to breathe. “Sometimes.”
The woman nodded like she’d been expecting that. Wrote something. Didn’t look up.
Talia’s stomach clenched. Sweat prickled behind her knees, the overhead lights glaring. She stared at the cheap linoleum and tried not to cry.
Maddox
His interview was shorter. Colder.
Clinical.
“Captain Maddox, are you aware of any inappropriate behavior in your station?”
“No.”
“Have you entered into any romantic or sexual relationships with subordinates?”
Lie.
“No.”
“Have you noticed unusual interpersonal tension among your team?”
