Something shifted in Lena's expression—surprise, maybe, that Erin knew the specific language that had been used. Hermouth opened, closed, opened again. "I never said you were incompetent?—"
"You didn't have to." The words tasted bitter. "You said I was taking unnecessary risks with my thorough investigative style. Do you have any idea what that sounds like to someone who's spent six years proving she belongs in this job?"
Lena was quiet for a moment, and Erin could practically see the wheels turning, trying to find the right combination of words to make this better. But there weren't any right words, and the silence just made the betrayal feel heavier.
"I was scared," Lena said finally, and her voice was softer now, almost pleading. "When I saw you assessing that building so close to the fire, when I heard the structure creaking?—"
"So you decided to get me benched."
"That's not what I was trying to do."
"Then what?" Erin stepped closer, her hands clenched at her sides to keep them from shaking. "What exactly were you trying to accomplish by going behind my back to my boss?"
Lena looked away, toward the window where the morning light was streaming in like everything was normal, like Erin's world wasn't falling apart. When she spoke, she wouldn't meet Erin's eyes.
"I thought maybe Hallie could talk to you," she said, and the words sounded small and insufficient. "Maybe she could make you understand the risks you were taking?—"
"Make me understand?" Erin's voice cracked on the question. "Lena, I'm a fire marshal. Understanding risks is literally what I do for a living."
"But you're also—" Lena stopped herself, but not quickly enough.
"I'm also what?" The question hung in the air. "Young? Inexperienced? Trying to prove something?"
"I didn't say that."
"Didn’t you? That's what you handed Hallie. You confirmed every doubt anyone's ever had about whether I deserve this position." Erin could feel tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to fall, but she pushed them back with pure fury. She refused to break down here. "Every insecurity I've carried since I got promoted, every assumption people make about the young female fire marshal who must not know what she's doing."
"That's not what I think about you." But Lena's voice lacked conviction, and she was still looking everywhere except at Erin.
"Isn't it?" Erin moved closer, and she could see Lena’s body tense like she was facing down a suspect. "Because you went to my supervisor and told her I was taking unnecessary risks. In what universe is that not questioning my professional judgment?"
Finally, Lena looked at her directly, and Erin could see the fear there—not fear of the fires or the job, but fear of this conversation and of where it was inevitably heading. "I was trying to protect you."
"From what?" The question came out louder than Erin intended, but she was past caring about volume control. "From doing the job I love? From being good at something? From making my own decisions about my own safety?"
"From getting hurt!" Lena's composure finally cracked, her voice rising to match Erin's. "From walking into a building that could collapse and getting yourself killed because you're too stubborn to admit when something's too dangerous!"
The words hung between them like a verdict. Erin was too stubborn; the job was too dangerous. Everything Erin had feared Lena really thought about her professional judgment, laid bare.
"There it is," Erin said quietly, and her voice was steadier now, the steadiness of someone who had just watched something precious shatter beyond repair. "You think I'm reckless."
"I think you're brave to the point of being careless sometimes." Lena's detective mask was gone now, replaced by something raw and desperate. "I think your need to prove yourself makes you take risks that?—"
"Stop." Erin held up a hand, and Lena's words died mid-sentence. "Just stop."
The room felt too small suddenly, the walls closing in on everything they'd built and destroyed in the space of ten minutes. Erin could feel her heart hammering against her ribs, and she could taste copper from where she'd bitten her tongue to keep from screaming or crying or both.
"You think I'm careless," she said, testing the words, letting them settle. "You think I take unnecessary risks because I need to prove myself."
"Erin, that's not?—"
"It's exactly what you think. You just said so." Erin was moving toward the door now, each step deliberate. "And you know what? I can't be with someone who sees me that way. I can't build a relationship with someone who thinks so little of my judgment that they'd go behind my back to my boss instead of trusting me to know my own job."
"Please don't do this." Lena's voice was small and quiet now, but Erin could hear the panic underneath. "We can work through this. I can try to?—"
"Try to what? Trust me?" Erin turned back, and she could see her own pain reflected in Lena's face. "You just told me you think I'm careless and reckless and that I’m trying to prove myself instead of just being good at what I do. How do we work through that?"
"I'm scared," Lena said, and the admission sounded torn from somewhere deep. "I'm terrified something will happen to you, and I won't be able to live with myself if I could have prevented it."
