“Martin, stop! We can protect you!”
“You can’t protect anyone!” His voice came from somewhere to her left, but the smoke made it impossible to pinpoint his location. “You couldn’t even protect your girlfriend!”
The words felt like a gut punch. Lena spun toward the sound, her handgun raised, but she saw only gray smoke and dancing shadows from the fire behind her. The flames were climbing the walls now, following more accelerant residue she hadn't noticed before.
A metallic scrape warned her just in time. She dropped and rolled as the crowbar swept through the space where her head had been. Martin materialized out of the smoke like a ghost, his face streaked with soot and twisted with terror.
"She almost died because of people like you!" He swung again, wild and desperate. "People who think they can control everything!"
Lena caught his wrist this time, using his momentum to throw him off balance. They grappled in the billowing smoke, both coughing and struggling for advantage. Martin was heavier, but Lena had fifteen years of training and the clarity that came from knowing she was fighting for her life.
She managed to wrench the crowbar away, but Cross immediately lunged for her weapon. They crashed into a metal shelving unit, ancient bolts giving way under their combined weight. Debris rained down around them, the rusted brackets, forgotten tools, and chunks of concrete from the deteriorating walls crashing to the floor.
Something heavy struck Lena's temple.
Pain exploded behind her eyes, bright and sharp. Her vision tilted and the warehouse started spinning around her like a broken carnival ride. She felt herself falling, the concrete floor rushing up to meet her.
Through the haze of a concussion and smoke, she heard Martin moving away, his footsteps echoing off the walls, growingmore and more distant. A door slammed somewhere in the building's depths, but she couldn’t discern which direction the sound came from.
Lena tried to push herself up, but her arms wouldn't cooperate. Her head felt like it was splitting open, and when she touched her temple, her fingers came away warm and wet. Blood, mixing with the soot that coated everything.
The fire was spreading faster now, feeding on whatever accelerants Martin had been storing. Heat pressed against her face, and she could hear the groaning of metal as the building's structure began to weaken. She needed to move. She needed to get out before the whole place came down.
Lena forced herself to hands and knees, then to standing, using the damaged shelving for support. The warehouse door seemed impossibly far away, wavering through smoke and the aftereffects of her head injury. Each step sent streaks of white-hot lightning through her skull, but she kept moving.
Behind her, something exploded with a dull whump. The pressure wave knocked her forward, and she stumbled into the wall, her cheek scraping against rough concrete. More heat, more smoke, the fire now feeding on itself.
She made it halfway to the door before her legs gave out.
The concrete was cool against her face, a sharp contrast to the heat around her. Through her fading vision, she could see daylight filtering through the open door—so close, but impossibly far. Her radio crackled somewhere in the debris field, dispatch probably wondering why she hadn't checked in.
Backup would arrive eventually. In a few minutes, maybe less. They'd find her service weapon, her radio, and evidence of a struggle. They'd piece together what had happened, arrest Martin when they found him, and continue the investigation.
But they'd do it without her.
The thought of dying here, alone, without ever making things right with Erin, was worse than the pain in her head or the heat pressing against her back. All the words she should have said, everything she'd thrown away, all because she couldn't stop being afraid.
Sirens cut through the roar of the fire, growing closer. Multiple vehicles raced toward her—police, fire department, probably ambulance—the whole cavalry arriving just late enough to matter.
Lena closed her eyes and tried to hold onto consciousness long enough for them to find her. Through her haze, she tried to hold onto the image of Erin's face and the memory of her voice.
If she lived through this, she was going to do everything differently.
If she lived through this.
Her world faded to black as she strained to keep hearing the sirens in the distance, Erin’s name the last word lingering on her lips as she slipped out of consciousness.
Lena woke to the steady beep of machines and the antiseptic smell of a hospital room. Her head felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to it, and when she tried to move, pain shot through her ribs with enough force to make her gasp.
"Don't try to sit up yet."
The voice came from her left, soft and familiar. Lena turned her head carefully, and there was Erin, curled in the uncomfortable-looking visitor's chair beside the bed. Her fire department jacket hung over the chair back, and soot still streaked her hands and forearms. Her red hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and exhaustion shadowed her green eyes.
"You came," Lena's voice came out as a rasp.
"Of course I came." Erin leaned forward, her expression carefully controlled. "I was at the scene and saw them loading you into the ambulance."
"The scene?"
