Page 114 of Controlled Burn
She leaned in, quiet but urgent.
“HR’s back in. Jake’s name came up again, but someone else filed a missing-footage report. And it wasn’t him.”
Dean’s jaw ticked. “Brooks?”
“He’s on the list. But they think it’s bigger. Something deeper.”
Chief Stark’s office felt smaller today, the sunlight slicing through the blinds like razors.
“Maddox,” Stark said, rubbing his temple, “I want names, not rumors. Jake’s being questioned. But the camera footage? Pulled clean. Logs wiped. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.”
Dean’s gut tightened. “Jake’s not methodical. He’s sloppy. Brooks has a tech background, doesn’t he?”
Stark gave a grim nod. “He’s under review. But tread carefully. The IA team’s circling.”
“If I hear anything,” Dean said, “I’ll bring it straight to you.”
Stark locked eyes with him. “Don’t bring me smoke, Dean. Bring fire.”
The call dropped as Dean stepped out of the office—tones sharp, dispatch clipped.
“Structure fire. Three-story colonial. Residential. Occupants possibly trapped.”
Dean didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go. Engine 12 rolling!”
By the time they arrived, the house was a silhouette in flame—second floor devoured, smoke pouring out like a curse. A woman stood barefoot on the lawn, robe flapping, voice shredded by screaming.
“My daughter’s upstairs!”
Dean’s heart kicked hard.
“Cross. King. You’re entry.”
But she was already masked up, axe in hand, tearing toward the front door.
“Closed bedroom door, smoke under!” she called out. “Survivable conditions!”
She hit the door like she meant to break through bone.
Inside, the stairwell was a mouth of hell—zero visibility, heat clawing down the walls. The smoke was a living thing, curling into her mask, pressing against her lungs until every inhale felt stolen. Sweat ran under her collar, stinging her eyes. Her knees burned against the floorboards. Each crawl forward felt like defiance—like she was dragging herself out of every man who’d tried to own her.
The floor creaked under her—too hot, too soon.
“King! Cover the hallway. Hold that line!”
Water blasted behind her, but she kept moving. Felt the house groan. Then—
A whimper.
She turned her head, heart pounding against the seal of her mask.
There—under the bed. A shadow, slight movement.
“I’ve got her!” she shouted, yanking a soot-covered girl out from beneath the frame. Coughing. Crying.
Alive.
Talia cradled her close, turned, and hauled ass out of the fire.
