Page 70 of Controlled Burn
And when their eyes met across the bay floor—if they ever did—they’d both pretend they were strangers.
Not fire and gasoline. Not wreckage waiting to reignite.
Chapter 26
Fault Line
She thought maybe the rooftop had meant something.
Not everything—not redemption, not rescue, not the kind of fantasy you whisper to yourself in the dark. But something. A shift. A tether. A flicker of truth between the smoke and the skin and the gasping way he’d held her down like he couldn’t help himself.
She’d braced for something—a lingering glance, a pause in the hallway, some quiet flicker that said:I remember. I still want you.But he didn’t even look at her.
Dean Maddox walked past her like she was a ghost. Like she hadn’t been on her knees for him less than 12 hours ago. Like she hadn’t begged his name into the sky, fingers bruised against brick, thighs burning from how hard she’d clung to the edge.
At the morning briefing, he didn’t glance her way once. Gave her an assignment with no inflection. Didn’t even call her by name. JustCross—like she was a file folder, not a memory he still hadn’t let himself touch.
It could have unraveled her, all that distance—the chill where there used to be hunger.
If it weren’t for what came next.
Rachel Maddox didn’t storm into the station. She glided—like a goddamn knife in heels. Perfect hair. Designer sunglasses. A soft white blouse that probably cost more than Talia’s whole week of overtime. She moved across the bay like she owned it—like she’d walked into firehouses her entire life and never once been afraid of the smoke.
Talia had just finished rolling hose, sweat sticking her shirt to her lower back, hair scraped into a severe knot. She looked up at the sound of stilettos on concrete and froze, hands stinging from rope burn.
Rachel didn’t hesitate. Walked right up to the office door.
“We need to talk,” she said, not loud—but sharp. Sharp enough to echo.
Dean looked up from his desk. “Not here,” he muttered.
They went inside. Didn’t shut the door. Didn’t see Talia just down the hallway, heart pounding so loud she was sure it would give her away. Didn’t realize she could hear everything.
“You think I don’t notice how you look at her?” Rachel’s voice was like a knife’s edge.
“Nothing is going on,” Dean replied. Tight. Controlled. “She’s just some rookie.”
Silence. Talia stopped breathing.
“You think I’m stupid?” Rachel hissed. “I can smell it on you. You look like a man who’s already fucked up. And she looks like a girl who thinks she matters.”
Dean didn’t answer.
Rachel stepped in, closer, voice dropping to a razor. “You think anyone’s going to protect you when this explodes? You think the union, the Chief, your boys are gonna line up to defend the captain who couldn’t keep it in his pants?”
Still nothing.
“You’ve got everything to lose, Dean. Don’t throw it away for her.”
Talia backed away. Slow. Quiet. Each footstep felt like breaking glass—as if she made a sound, everything would shatter.
Just some rookie.
Now she understood. The rooftop hadn’t meant a connection. It hadn’t even meant conflict.
It had been a reminder of exactly how replaceable she was.
A moment, and he was already rewriting. Erasing. Denying it straight to his wife’s face. And her? She wasn’t collateral damage.
