Page 99 of Controlled Burn
“You’re walking a tightrope,” McKenna added. “Whatever happened..Burn it. Bury it. Or document the hell out of it. But don’t pretend it won’t follow you.”
Then she was gone.
No lecture. No comfort. Just truth, heavy and clean.
Maddox sat in his office, blinds drawn, staring at the reflection of the bay doors in his coffee. He hadn’t spoken to her since that night—hadn’t even texted. But he saw the bruise he’d left on her jaw. The way her shoulders curled tighter every day. She was walking around like a grenade with the pin halfway pulled. And worst of all—he’d lit the fuse. He told himself to stayout of it. To keep his hands clean, his rank intact. But watching her burn from a distance didn’t make him clean. It just made him a coward.
Talia exhaled slowly, careful not to let her knees give out.
She went back to work.
Dinner was ziti and garlic bread, steam fogging the windows. Talia picked at hers with a fork, pretending to listen to whatever joke Brent was telling. Her appetite had hollowed out.
Then Chief Stark appeared with a man at his side.
“Elijah King,” he said, loud enough to bounce off the tile. “Transfer from Station 41. Ex-military. Engine certified. He’s starting on your rig today.”
Elijah stood tall—buzzed dark hair, eyes like steel, a face unreadable as stone. When he shook hands, he didn’t linger. Didn’t leer. Just nodded.
When he got to Talia, his gaze met hers, direct and calm.
“Talia,” she said.
“Elijah,” he replied. “Looking forward to working with you.”
No look up or down. No comment. Just… stillness. It rattled her more than a catcall ever could.
That night, they ran a call—just smoke from a busted HVAC. No flames. No drama.
But Elijah kept pace with her the entire time. Never interfered. Never corrected.
“You double-looped the hose line,” he said after they packed up. “Clean work.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You watching me?”
He shrugged. “I watch everyone.”
His tone didn’t feel like a threat. But it stuck.
By the time they got back, Talia was bone-tired. Her boots felt like concrete. She cut through the hallway toward the bunkroom—desperate for dark and silence.
But Jake was there.
Leaning on the locker, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Observing.
Not talking and not moving. Just… watching.
His gaze flicked from her to Elijah—still walking behind her—and narrowed, hard.
A slow, creeping chill slid down her spine. Not fear. Anticipation.
Jake wasn’t going to let this slide. Something was coming.
She could feel it.
A wire pulled tight. A match waiting to strike.
