“What’s the status?” Lena asked, showing her badge to the officer maintaining the perimeter.
“Everyone’s out,” Julia said, relief evident in her voice. “That was a close call. There were staff working late and three teenagers in the study rooms. The last person evacuated ten minutes ago.”
Chief Adams nodded toward the building. “Defensive operations now. We’re protecting the adjacent buildings and trying to save what we can of the structure, but”—she gestured at the flames visible through the second-story windows—”it’s going to be a total loss.”
Lena’s hands clenched into fists at her sides. Evidence was being destroyed with every passing second, including accelerant patterns, ignition points, and anything that could tell her how the arsonist had gained access and what they used. The longer the fire burned, the less she’d have to work with.
“When can I assess the scene?” she asked, already moving toward the fire line.
“Detective.” The voice stopped her mid-step, sharp with authority. Erin Vance emerged from the organized chaos, fire gear making her look like a warrior despite her petite frame. Soot streaked her face, and her green eyes were hard with professional determination. “This is an active fire scene. Nobody goes in without clearance.”
“Evidence is being destroyed every minute we wait,” Lena shot back, not breaking her stride. “I need to see the point of origin before?—”
“Before what? Before the roof collapses?” Erin moved to block her path and suddenly, they were standing too close, close enough that Lena could see the soot on Erin’s turnout gear and the set of her jaw beneath the helmet. “Your evidence doesn’t matter if you’re dead.”
The words hit like a slap. Around them, firefighters continued their work, but Lena was acutely aware that both departments were watching this confrontation unfold. She could feel the heat of eyes on them as conversations paused, the weight of professional scrutiny.
“People could’ve died in there,” Lena said, her voice controlled but carrying an edge that cut through the ambientnoise. “I need to know how this happened. How they got in, what they used, where they started the fire.”
“And you’ll get that information when it’s safe to collect it.” Erin’s stance didn’t waver. “Not before.”
“By then, there might not be anything left to find.”
“Better than finding your body in the rubble.”
They stood locked in a standoff, neither willing to back down. Lena could feel her frustration building—at the delay, at the evidence burning away, at being told no by someone who held their ground without flinching.
“Is there a problem here?”
Fire Chief McKenna Adams’ voice cut through the tension, her tone carrying the authority of someone used to making life-and-death decisions. Both women turned toward her, but neither stepped back.
“Detective Soto wants access to the scene,” Erin said, her voice professionally neutral. “I’ve explained it’s not safe.”
“And I’ve explained that evidence is time-sensitive,” Lena added, matching Erin’s passion. “The longer we wait, the less we’ll have to work with.”
McKenna looked between them, taking in the tense situation and the way other personnel had slowed their work to watch the conflict. Her expression was unreadable, but Lena caught the slight tightening around her eyes that suggested this wasn’t the first interdepartmental clash she’d mediated.
“Fire Marshal Vance is correct about safety protocols,” she said finally. “But Detective Soto has a point about evidence preservation.” She paused, studying the building’s structure and spray patterns of the water cannons. “We’re transitioning to overhaul operations within the hour. When I give the clearance, you go in together. Vance leads on safety; Soto handles evidence collection.”
It wasn’t what either of them wanted. Lena could see frustration flash across Erin’s face, the same irritation she felt herself. But it was a compromise that acknowledged both their expertise and their jurisdiction.
“Understood,” Lena said.
“Copy that, Chief,” Erin replied.
They stood there another moment, the weight of their public disagreement settling between them. Around them, the library continued to burn, and Lena forced herself to focus on that instead of the frustration still simmering between them.
An hour later, the library’s interior looked like a battlefield. Water dripped steadily from the ceiling, pooling on warped hardwood floors littered with debris. The pungent scent of burned books mingled with melted plastic and charred wood, and steam rose from surfaces still radiating heat. Flashlight beams cut through the smoke-hazed air as the fire crew escort led them carefully through the wreckage.
Lena stepped over a fallen beam, her boots crunching on broken glass and debris. The children’s section was unrecognizable—colorful reading nooks reduced to blackened frames and picture books transformed into a soggy pulp. But it was the teen reading area that made her jaw clench. The damage here was more concentrated, deliberate rather than incidental. Chairs that had been arranged in a circle were now twisted metal sculptures.
"The point of origin is here," Erin said, crouching near what had been the teen reading corner. Her voice carried clearly in the hollow space, professional but edged with something harder.
Lena photographed the scene from multiple angles, documenting the destruction. "What was the entry point?"
“It looks like the back door near the emergency exit,” Erin replied, moving toward the rear of the building. “The lockingmechanism shows signs of tampering, and there’s accelerant residue on the threshold.”
They worked in parallel orbits at first, each focused on their own analysis. Lena mapped the crime scene—photographing evidence, measuring burn patterns, and cataloguing what the arsonist had touched to understand how they moved through the space. Erin analyzed fire behavior, determining how the flames had spread and what factors had influenced the burn.
