Page 8 of Controlled Burn
"Are you kidding me?" she muttered under her breath.
She scanned the rest of the board. Captain Maddox's handwriting was everywhere—black Sharpie, all caps, no room for questions.
She was paired with Nina Watts. Soft hands. Slower feet. The same girl who hadn't made it halfway up the drill tower last week before puking into her gloves.
Nina was slouched at the edge of the engine bay like a bad habit nobody had the guts to quit. Her turnout pants were half on, boots worn, with a cigarette tucked behind one ear, even though smoking on city property had been banned for years. Her smile was crooked, more defiance than charm, and her eyes carried that twitchy, unpredictable gleam—the kind that made you hesitate before turning your back.
"Well, if it isn't Daddy's little legacy," she muttered as Talia walked in, voice low and sour.
Watts' reputation preceded her like a siren no one bothered to mute—too many incident reports, too many "mental health" notes buried under layers of department hush. But she was still here. Still on the roster. Still dangerous in that passive-aggressive, implode-on-impact kind of way.
Perfect.
Like handing her the keys to a Porsche and slashing the tires.
Was this another test?
Or just Maddox keeping her out of his way?
The office door was cracked open. Maddox sat behind the desk, back rigid and straight—a man built like a steel rod wrapped in navy blue.
His eyes flicked up when she knocked.
"Something you need, Cross?"
His tone was neutral. Distant. Cold enough to frost glass—but that only made her mouth twitch into a half-smile.
"I'm riding front right seat today," she said. "With Watts in the back."
"You are."
"You're pairing me with someone who can't carry a high-rise pack?"
He stared at her for a long moment. Silent. Evaluating.
Then: "Consider it an opportunity."
"An opportunity to get someone hurt?"
He exhaled. Not quite a sigh—more like a controlled release of frustration.
"You want to prove you belong here, right?"
That stopped her.
She straightened slightly. "Every day," she said quietly.
"Then prove it. Lead."
Back in the bay, she adjusted her gear, jaw set, blocking out the stares from the guys who still hadn't figured out what to do with a woman who didn't flinch. Her turnout pants clung in all the places that made men dumb. She'd already caught one of the rookies fumbling his radio mid-stare.
Whatever. Let them look. She wasn't here to play cute.
Watts stumbled in, her coat half-zipped, helmet sitting cockeyed on her head. Her hood was missing.
"You're not wearing your hood," Talia said flatly.
"Oh—I forgot."
