Page 36 of Raven

She hadn’t earned it. She hadn’t bled for it.

I bled to get where I am. I had ten years on her, but I knew I looked younger than her. People think I’m twenty-five, and I refused to let this bitch take my glory.

From the first week she showed up at the fire station, I knew she would be a problem. Always smiling. Always eager. Like a golden retriever wagging its tail for praise. And sure enough, she was getting it from everyone.

But that’s okay.

She won’t see it coming.

* * *

Beatrice

Later that afternoon, we sat side by side, going through supplier logs on her office computer, which she brought with her. Something didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I glanced at Katherine, and she looked like she could spit nails.

“Mind if I look over the data on the flash drive you used yesterday?” I asked.

She paused, then smiled. “Oh… that one? I think I left it at home.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say you brought it back today?”

“I was mistaken,” she replied smoothly. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”

I nodded slowly. Something about her voice was too controlled.

That feeling came back, tight in my chest, right behind the ribs. It felt as though I was being watched, even in a room with just the two of us.

I reminded myself not to ignore it this time.

18

Beatrice

That feelingstuck with me the rest of the day—the one that pressed like a weight just under my sternum, cold and sharp. Something was off. Katherine’s mood. Her sudden defensiveness. The missing flash drive.

I didn’t say anything else. I knew better than to push her when she was already on edge. But I started keeping notes of my own—written in a little spiral-bound notebook I kept in the glove compartment of my truck, the same kind I used in the field to sketch out hazard maps.

That evening, after my shift, I drove to the marina. Not to meet Raven, though God, I wanted to. I needed his voice, his calm logic. But he was across the world right now—leading a mission in Iran to rescue Navy SEALs. I couldn’t reach him, and I didn’t want to put this on his shoulders.

Instead, I sat on the hood of my truck, watching the wind whip across the water, pen in hand.

June 12

Katherine lied about the flash drive.

Tense behavior all day. Defensive. Paranoid?

I believe, she’shidingsomething.

I tapped the pen against my knee.

And then I wrote the question I didn’t want to admit:

Is Katherine the one who planted the bomb?

It sounded crazy. Outrageous. Except it didn’t. Not anymore. The pieces were small—glances, shifts in tone, that loaded comment about everyone trusting me. But when I looked at them together, they started to form something sharp-edged and dangerous.

I closed the notebook and locked it away.

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