The kitchen was still hazy with smoke, but the damage was minimal. Hannah had done everything right—used the extinguisher, activated the fire suppression system, gotten out. The remnants of the small blaze were contained to one section of counter.
But something felt wrong.
Jake knelt by the burnt countertop, running his gloved fingers over the scorched surface.
The burn pattern was off.
Fires had a language, a pattern, a signature.
This one didn't make sense.
Something caught his eye through the window.
Michael Harrison stood across the street. Watching. Just like he always seemed to be watching lately.
But this time, his expression had shifted.
There was something new in his eyes. Something sharp. Something like… satisfaction.
"Cooper." Peterson's voice pulled Jake's focus back inside. "Found something."
Jake crossed to where his partner crouched near the base of the counter. A shattered glass bottle lay on the floor, the acrid scent of accelerant clinging to the shards.
Peterson exhaled sharply. "That's not from the bakery."
Jake's stomach went cold.
Could it have fallen during the fire? Could be innocent. But the glass pattern was wrong. The placement was wrong.
Everything was wrong.
Jake turned back to the window. Michael was still there. Still watching.
And when their eyes met, Michael didn't look away.
He smiled.
A slow, deliberate curve of his lips.
"Cooper." Peterson's voice was lower now. "This needs to go in the report."
Jake nodded once, jaw tight. "Bag it. Log everything."
Peterson lifted an eyebrow, like he was expecting resistance.
Jake didn't give any.
Not this time.
Jake stepped backinto the daylight, barely registering the gathered onlookers. His gaze locked on Hannah.
She stood near Miller, arms wrapped around herself like she was holding herself together by force.
She looked so small. So vulnerable.
Then she caught Jake watching her.
Her spine straightened.
