Page 1 of Fire's Storm
ONE
PHOENIX
"Iswear to God, if you tell me to 'be careful' one more time, I'll kick your ass, Burns."
I secure my fire-resistant gear with practiced efficiency, ignoring the way the heavy Nomex jacket makes my skin crawl today. Everything feels wrong—too tight, too restrictive, too fucking hot. My body temperature has been off the charts since I woke this morning, skin flushed, sweat beading at my hairline despite the air conditioning blasting in the command center.
Burns raises his eyebrows but doesn't back down. Stubborn bastard. "Just saying this one's different, Cap."
"Different how?" I cinch my utility belt tighter, checking my radio and emergency supplies with practiced motions. The ritual usually centers me. Not today.
At 5'6", I'm the shortest member of my elite wildland firefighting team, but I'm also the toughest—and the only woman to make captain in the unit's history. Seven years at this department, proving myself. Seven years of taking the most dangerous assignments, working twice as hard as any man on the crew, earning every ounce of respect through blood and sweat and sheer determination. Seven years climbing the ranks,proving I could maintain absolute control in situations that sent others into panic. I didn't get here by backing down from "different."
Burns holds up the tablet, his weathered face creased with concern. "Look at these thermal readings."
I lean in, frowning at the satellite imagery. He's right. This fire doesn't make sense. Flames moving against prevailing winds. Burn patterns forming perfect geometric shapes—circles, spirals, symmetrical designs that nature shouldn't create. Temperature readings spike in isolated pockets, hitting numbers that should be impossible even for a forest fire.
"What the hell?" I mutter, zooming in on one particularly intense hot spot. The flames there burn blue-white rather than orange-red. "Equipment malfunction?"
"Three different satellites showing the same thing." Burns taps the screen, bringing up the meteorological data. "And that's not all. Look at this storm formation."
Dark clouds swirl directly above the fire's epicenter, though the weather forecast promised clear skies all week. The cloud pattern mirrors the strange geometric burn patterns below, creating a vortex that defies all meteorological logic.
Something about those clouds calls to me. A pull, deep in my core, like a compass needle swinging violently toward magnetic north. The hair on my arms stands on end, not from fear, but from the electrical field building between us. The air pressure around me seems to drop, my ears popping as if at high altitude. Between my thighs, an unexpected heat blooms, entirely inappropriate for the situation. What the actual fuck is wrong with me today?
"Cap? You okay?" Burns studies my face, concern evident in his eyes.
I snap back to professional mode, shoving the strange sensations aside. "Fine. Just thinking. Weird readings or not, it'sstill a fire, and we're still going to put it out." I raise my voice, addressing the entire team now. "Gear up! Full protocol. Teams of two. No heroes today." I fix each firefighter with a hard stare. "I mean it. Anyone tries to be a cowboy, I'll personally drag your ass back to base. This one feels..." I hesitate, searching for the right word.
"Unnatural," Rodriguez, one of the rookies, supplies. He crosses himself quickly, dark eyes scanning the satellite imagery with obvious unease.
"Different," I correct firmly. Can't have the team spooked before we even hit the ground. "Stay alert. Stay together. Stay alive."
The men nod, expressions solemn beneath their soot-stained faces. They trust me. Follow me without question. Even the rookies who initially balked at taking orders from a woman shut their mouths after seeing me work. I have that effect on people—commanding respect not through volume but through sheer competence and unbreakable will.
As we load into the vehicles, the strange pull intensifies, a magnetic force tugging at something deep inside me. My pulse quickens, blood rushing in my ears. My skin crackles with electrical energy, tiny blue sparks visible between my fingers when I flex them. The air around me feels charged, as if a storm is building inside my body rather than just over the fireground. My tactical radio crackles with interference whenever I get too close.
What the hell is going on?
The first sight of the fire knocks the breath from my lungs.
Fire isn't a stranger to me. I've faced down infernos that swallowed entire forests, flames that leaped hundred-foot gaps in seconds, heat so intense, it melted the soles of my boots. This is different. Wrong.
The flames burn blue-white, like lightning made solid. They move with purpose, with intelligence—curling into perfect spirals, splitting around certain trees while consuming others, forming patterns across the forest floor that remind me of the intricate designs of crop circles. In fifteen years of firefighting, I've never seen anything like it.
"Holy shit," Burns whispers beside me. Above us, the storm clouds have darkened, swirling directly over the heart of the fire. Lightning flashes within the clouds, but no thunder follows—as if the storm is holding its breath, waiting.
My radio crackles with frantic reports from other teams already on scene.
"—splitting around certain trees, leaving them completely untouched?—"
"—flames just formed a perfect spiral pattern, I've never seen anything?—"
"—temperature's hitting 3000 degrees in some spots, that's impossible?—"
"—backup, we need immediate backup, this isn't normal?—"
The voices of seasoned firefighters carry notes of confusion, even fear, men and women who've faced down the worst nature has to offer without flinching. If they're rattled, this situation is even more dangerous than it appears.
