Page 43 of Controlled Burn
Brent didn't push. He just handed her a water bottle and muttered, "Well, don't let 'em see you sweat."
The station passed inspection — on paper.
But no one was breathing easy.
Not Dean, who hadn't looked at her once.
Not Talia, whose skin still buzzed with tension from Stark's gaze and Maddox's silence.
Something was unraveling beneath all the protocol and polish.
And sooner or later, it was going to catch fire."
Chapter 17
Holding the Line
Talia
The station had finally quieted.
After the chaos of inspection day—after Battalion Chief Stark’s clipped praise and clipped warnings—the energy around the bays had changed. Tightened. Everyone walked on eggshells. Even the air felt different—brittle and charged, like dry brush before a spark.
It was just after dinner, and the crew drifted through the station like smoke—restless, lingering, uneasy.
Talia sat on the back bumper of Ladder 12, legs swinging slightly, a cold Gatorade bottle sweating between her palms. Herturnout pants were folded beside her, boots tucked under the rig like a soldier’s gear at rest. Every inch of her body ached from the week—drills, lifts, and the unspoken pressure of being watched—but her mind wouldn’t shut off.
Not with Maddox moving through the station like a lit fuse. Not with Jake Hastings watching her like he thought she still might break. Not with Lt. Reyes pacing like he couldn’t decide whether to lead or disappear. Not with Kennedy fidgeting at the kitchen table, eyes flicking from her phone to the bay doors every few minutes. And Brooks—Brooks kept to himself, hunched over his phone, expression unreadable, shooting occasional glances at the officers like he was bracing for another shake-up.
Footsteps echoed across the bay.
She straightened instinctively.
Ryan.
He came around the rig slowly, that usual calm riding easy in his shoulders. “Hey,” he said, nodding. “Mind if I sit?”
“Free country.”
He dropped down beside her, forearms on his knees, cracking his knuckles one by one. The quiet between them was companionable—just the buzz of overhead lights and the distant creak of a settling rig.
Ryan had this gravity to him—steady, unshakable. Didn’t gossip. Didn’t posture. Just did the job and watched out for people.
“You good?” he asked eventually, eyes still forward. “Long week.”
She sighed, tipping the bottle back. “I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
“That would imply we still had shoes left.”
She snorted.
“You know,” he added casually, “if you ever want to switch lockers, Jake’s been sniffing around yours like a bloodhound. You could move yours next to mine. I don’t bite.”
She looked at him sideways. “That offer come with protection detail?”
“Nah,” he said, smiling faintly. “You don’t need protection. Just backup.”
Her chest tightened.
