Flames punched through the upper windows now, no longer hiding, fully involved and climbing for the roofline.
I tightened my hold on her, just long enough to feel her breathing steady through the mask. Alive.
That was all that mattered.
The first enginecame in fast but controlled, lights washing the hillside in red and white. Tires bit into the incline as they angled into position below the house, already reading the structurethe way crews do—where it was venting, where it was holding, whether it still had fight left in it.
I didn’t move when they arrived.
I was still crouched beside Sanaa on the slope, one hand steady at her back while she pulled air into her lungs in careful, measured draws. I matched her without thinking. In. Out. Keep her breathing even. Keep myself from replaying how close that just came to ending differently.
“Engine 24 on scene,” someone called over the radio. “Active fire in the rear. Possible accelerant. Making entry.”
Boots pounded past us. A hose line dragged across gravel. Orders layered over each other.
And my brain, finally, started doing what it was trained to do.
Rear ignition. Fast climb. Designed to push heat up the stairwell. No staging inside. No signs of occupancy. No hesitation in the burn pattern. Not random.
Never random.
“Saw your truck halfway up the hill and figured you did something stupid.”
I looked up to see Marquez jogging toward us, winded, jacket thrown over whatever he’d been wearing back at the office. He took one look at Sanaa, then at the house, and let out a low breath.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “This ain’t accidental.”
“You shouldn’t be here,” I said automatically.
He shrugged. “Heard you light up dispatch and then hang up on them. Figured you might need backup. Or someone to explain why you’re about to get chewed out.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
Paramedics moved in, checking Sanaa over, fitting an oxygen cannula under her nose. She answered their questions with short nods, already pulling herself back together. Already reclaiming control.
That’s when the black SUV rolled up.
Marquez muttered under his breath. “Well… that’s definitely not our jurisdiction.”
Elijah Lewis stepped out like he had every right to be there.
He didn’t look at the fire or at the crews.
He looked at Sanaa, who was refusing to go to the hospital. I’d deal with that.
But the way he looked at her wasn’t business—it was assessment. Making sure she was still here. Then his attention shifted to me.
“You kept digging,” he said.
I didn’t pretend otherwise. “It’s my job.”
He nodded once. “And I respect that. Heart like that…Integrity… Even where I come from, that matters. We got codes too. Folks think we don’t and them muthafuckas are wrong.”
He glanced back toward the house where the flames being forced down now under steady streams of water.
“This,” he said, “is what happens when somebody wants to see how far you’ll go.”
I followed his gaze.
