I glance back, startled by the fire in her voice.
“Seriously,” she continues. “Screw every last one of them who whispered about you instead of asking what really happened. You shouldn’t have had to come back to an empty house with holes in your shoes and guilt that isn’t even yours to carry.”
I blink hard, her words settling in deep, heat behind my ribs.
“I didn’t want anyone to see me like this,” I admit. “I thought I’d lay low, figure something out, maybe disappear again before anyone could talk about it.”
But then I saw Beck.
And Hayes.
And Ford…
Oh god.
I amnotdoing a great job of laying low.
I need to get out of here. Sooner rather than later.
CHAPTER 14
Beck
The station’s quiet. Late enough that even the rookies have stopped trying to pretend they’re awake. I’m half through cleaning the kitchen, wiping out the old coffee pot, when the radio snaps to life with static and urgency.
Structure fire. Willow Lane. Smoke visible. Possibly occupied.
The tone shifts instantly. Colt Rivers, one of our best volunteers, is already on his feet, gear half on before I’ve even set the sponge down.
We move fast, the kind of speed that comes from too many late nights and not enough sleep. I clip on my radio, grab my coat, and fall into rhythm with the rest of the crew.
We’re on the truck within seconds. Engine growling under us, lights cutting through the dark.
Willow Lane doesn’t mean much at first. Another old street, too many sagging porches, and trees grown too wild. I focus on the logistics, pressure gauges, wind direction, how close the hydrants run in that part of town.
But the closer we get, the worse the feeling in my gut gets. I start to feel… constricted. That’s the only way to describe it.
Then we round the last corner.
And I see it.
The house halfway down the block.
The Marsh place.
My chest goes tight. The smoke’s thick, rolling hard from the back of the house. There’s fire in the lower windows already, curling through the frames as if it belongs there. Flames licking up the walls.
I swing down from the truck before it’s fully stopped. My boots hit gravel, radio crackling in my ear as the crew fans out around me. Orders, hydrant call outs, second engine requested.
None of it hits. Not fully.
Because she’s standing across the yard.
Lo.
Wrapped in a blanket, too thin to really keep her warm. Shoulders hunched, she’s trying to disappear into herself.
She’s not looking at anything. Just staring. Like maybe if she keeps still long enough, the whole thing will blink out of existence.
