Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat: Captain Hallie Hunter confirming her response time and asking for her ETA. Erin responded quickly, her thumb sliding across the screen while she deftly navigated a turn. “Twenty minutes out,” she texted back. “Ready to assess.”
She’d been thinking about this moment for days, if she was honest. Not the fire—she never wanted fires—but the next time she’d work a scene that might bring Detective Soto into her orbit. She wanted to prove that their collaboration at Lavender’s hadn’t been a fluke, that her methods weren’t just “bureaucratic theater,” as Lena had called them.
Erin took a swig of her coffee, too hot but necessary, and tried to focus on what actually mattered: the job ahead of her. The black coffee tasted bitter on her tongue, mixing with saltair that grew stronger as she approached the coast. Through her windshield, the first hint of sunrise turned the fog golden at the edges, promising a clear day once the marine layer burned off. But for now, everything was uncertain.
Erin pressed slightly harder on the accelerator. She had a fire scene to process, evidence to collect, and a community to protect.
The glow against the fog was visible before she reached the scene, orange light that shouldn’t exist this early. She followed it like a beacon, her truck climbing the winding road that led down to the bluffs overlooking Phoenix Ridge’s dramatic coastline.
And there it was: Lena’s unmarked police car, already parked at the scene’s perimeter. Of course she was here.
Erin parked her truck and sat for a beat, watching smoke rise from the small Victorian cottage that had housed so much hope and healing. The fire was mostly out—she could tell that much from the color and volume of the plume—but significant damage had been done.
She grabbed her gear bag and stepped out into the cool morning air, ready to do her job.
The scene was already secured by the time Erin reached the perimeter tape, fire trucks positioned like sentries around the small Victorian cottage that had once been painted cheerful yellow. Now the siding was charred black in places, windows blown out from heat, and the rainbow flag that had flown proudly from the front porch hung in tattered, smoke-stained strips.
Erin clipped her badge to her jacket and ducked under the tape, noting automatically how the morning fog was beginning to lift. The acrid smell of wet ash filled her nostrils—that particular scent of destruction mixed with that salt air from the ocean below the bluffs. Fire trucks had pumped thousands ofgallons of water onto the structure, and now everything dripped with the aftermath.
Lena stood near the building’s east side with two other officers, crime scene camera in hand, documenting angles and taking notes. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and she moved with that same controlled precision Erin remembered from Lavender’s, every action deliberate and focused.
Their eyes met across the scene for just a moment, and recognition sparked in Lena’s hazel eyes before both women looked away, returning to their respective work.
Erin approached Captain Hunter, who stood coordinating with the incident commander near the fire trucks. “Status?”
“Fire’s been out for twenty minutes. Started around five-fifteen based on witness reports. A couple walking their dog saw flames through the windows.” Hallie’s expression was grim. “It’s lucky they called it in when they did or it could’ve been much worse.”
Erin nodded, pulling her digital camera and measurement tools from her gear bag. “Any casualties?”
“The building was empty, thank god, but Erin”—Hallie’s voice dropped—”this is the third fire in three weeks.”
“I know. Let me process the scene first. Facts before theories.”
She approached the building, documenting the exterior damage patterns with her camera before she moved inside. The front door hung askew on its hinges, paint bubbled and peeling. Heat damage was concentrated on the north side of the structure, where the morning sun now streamed through empty window frames.
Inside, the devastation hit harder. Artwork created by young hands still clung to walls in places the fire hadn’t reached, a bulletin board was full of pride flags and positive affirmations,and chairs were arranged in circles for support groups. Now it was all covered with debris and the lingering smell of destruction.
Erin forced herself to see past the emotional impact and focus on what the fire itself was telling her.
Point of origin: northwest corner near what had been a storage closet. The burn patterns radiated outward from there, following predictable paths along the ceiling where heated air would naturally flow. But there were irregularities, too, places where the fire had moved faster than physics should’ve allowed and in directions that didn’t match natural convection patterns.
She crouched near the origin point, photographing everything before moving closer. Accelerant residue was visible on the floorboards, a distinctive pattern that spoke of deliberate placement, not random splashing.
“Find something interesting?”
Lena’s voice came from behind her. She finished taking measurements of the accelerant pattern, noting how it aligned with the ventilation intake she could see in the wall above.
“Several things.” Erin stood, brushing ash from her knees. “Your arsonist understood natural fire behavior.”
“How so?”
Erin hesitated. The last time she’d shared her analysis with Detective Soto, she’d been dismissed. But the evidence was clear, and if there was a pattern building across multiple fires…
“The accelerant placement isn’t random.” She pointed to the patterns she’d been documenting. “See how it’s concentrated here, near the ventilation intake? And consider the timing. Morning thermal currents from the ocean would create an updraft through that vent system, feeding oxygen to the flames and pulling them in specific directions.”
Lena moved closer, studying what Erin was showing her. “What does that mean to you?”
“That the arsonist understood how fire would move in this building, then calculated the best time to set the fire.”
