Page 118 of Controlled Burn
Across the bay, Elijah caught her eye—steady, respectful, a slight nod. She returned it. But it twisted something in her gut.
Not guilt.
Not regret.
Something darker. Sharper.
Like knowing, even in her victories, someone else had been watching.
Brooks’s Warning
She passed the hallway that led to records and comms and saw him waiting.
Brooks.
Neatly dressed. Forgettable—if not for the glint in his eyes.
“Cross,” he murmured. Calm. Pleasant. Like the words hadn’t been rehearsed a dozen times in his mouth.
She didn’t slow. “Brooks.”
“Got a moment?”
She should’ve kept walking. But something about him—the stillness, the weight—made her stop.
He stepped in, just a little closer. Not threatening. Not overt. Just wrong. His shoulder brushed the wall, and for a split second, his eyes flicked up toward the tiny black dome of a camera.
“You wear command well,” he said. “Not many do.”
“I’m not here for your opinion.”
“It’s not that,” he said, voice lower now. “Just a heads-up.”
Her pulse ticked.
“I’ve seen things. Things others haven’t. Video. That kind of thing.”
Her spine locked. “You spying on me now?”
“Not spying,” he said. His mouth curved faintly. “Just… aware.”
She stared at him, ice creeping up her neck.
“Power unsettles people, Cross. Especially when they’ve never seen it worn by someone like you.”
“Someone like me?”
He smiled like a secret. “Unapologetic.”
Then he was gone. Quiet steps down a quiet hallway. But his words clung, sticky and cold.
The Call
The tones dropped twenty minutes later.
“Multi-vehicle MVA. Interstate 664. Multiple injuries. Possible ejection.”
Talia was already moving, voice cutting through the bay.
