I yank the emergency flare from my belt—red smoke plumes overhead, the universal abort signal. Crews on the ridge open valves; foam arcs across the gap, dousing the worst of the flare. After ten grinding minutes the fire whimpers into submission, sulking in steam and angry crackles. We’ve lost only three acres of test ground, but the scorch on my record will be harder to scrub.
Post-Incident Review
Fluorescent lights flicker in the Command Quonset casting keening shadows across a U-shaped table of clipboards and tight jaws. Investigators from State Forestry lean in, pens poised like scalpels. Chief Wilder plants his fists on the metal rim. I sit at attention on the hot seat, shoulders prickling under the weight of judgment.
“Your model predicted a two-foot flame length,” Inspector Graves says, glasses sliding down his nose. “We saw columns exceeding fifteen. Explain.”
“The wind veered six degrees to the east,” I answer steadily. “Unforecasted microburst funneled upslope.”
Graves taps his pen. “Meteorology recorded no such anomaly.”
“I was standing in it,” I bite out before I can soften the edge.
Across the room Kade lounges against the side wall—civilian jeans, black T-shirt stretched over too much disciplined muscle. He says nothing, yet the silence feels like backup, as if a hand is braced between my shoulder blades. Under the table my fingers twitch with the urge to acknowledge him and the comfort lodged in his presence. Instead I keep my stare on Graves.
Chief Wilder clears his throat. A leaden weight settles in my stomach. I brace, instinct already telling me what’s coming won’t be good—like catching the scent of scorched earth just before the fire line crests the ridge. “We also recovered residues of an accelerant, methyl-naphtha, in the hottest patch.”
Graves swivels toward me again. “Care to account for methyl-naphtha in your saw-mix drums?”
The rookies stiffen. I shake my head once—calm. “We mix diesel and gasoline on site. No naphtha. If it’s there, it wasn’t placed by any member of my crew.”
Kade’s gaze sharpens, but he still remains silent. Watching. Measuring. I wish he’d speak—cut through the bullshit with that carved-from-bedrock voice and shatter the performance Graves is pretending to call a hearing. But part of me respects the boundary. This is my fire—my trial, my reckoning—and even if the smoke stings and the air’s too tight to breathe, I’ll stand in it alone if I have to.
Graves clicks his pen shut. “Effective immediately, Liv Monroe’s burn permits are suspended pending investigation.”
The words detonate louder than the burst tanks, a charge set beneath my ribs. My pulse slams at my ears, a deafening roar of disbelief and humiliation. Heat rushes to my face, my throattightens—but I lock my spine in place, refusing to give them even a twitch of reaction. I’ve stood inside walls of flame and didn’t flinch. I won’t do it now.
Chief Wilder adds softly, “You’ll remain on training support—no live fire—until cleared.”
“Understood.” The word claws its way up my throat, coated in bitterness and soot. It scrapes past my teeth like ash off a scorched ridge, but I say it anyway, heavier than I could have imagined.
The meeting adjourns in terse shuffles. As the inspectors file out, Kade finally unfurls from the wall, crossing to block my path. Up close, he’s a wall of silent intensity, radiating the kind of heat that makes your skin remember things it shouldn’t. I have to tilt my chin to meet his eyes, but it’s the gravity of him—the absolute stillness—that steals my breath and tightens my core resembling a struck match. The nearness sparks something low and molten inside me, a warning flare I don’t dare name.
“You held that line.” His voice is low, threaded with an accent older than any wildland crew. “They can’t touch the truth.”
“They can stall it.” I exhale through my nose. “Which means I’ll be relegated to classroom slides while someone out there’s tampering with fuel drums.”
“I’ll look at the caches.”
“No.” The protest fires out reflexively. “I’ll be auditing them myself. Before dawn. Solo.”
His eyes narrow. “You plan to wander gear depots in the dark, after a full day’s work. Alone.”
I cross my arms, jaw tight. Alone is how I rebuilt. How I stay standing after watching my entire crew die, after the brass cut me loose, and after the man who once swore he’d love me forever demanded I return the ring and walked out without a word of defense. This is how I reclaim control—by staying sharp, staying quiet, and staying the hell on my feet.
I need this—to outmaneuver whoever’s laying traps in my name before they bury me in the fallout. I’ve clawed my way back from firestorms and wreckage, from betrayal by the man who claimed to love me, and from the gutting silence of losing my crew. Letting anyone in, especially Kade, isn’t a luxury—it’s a threat. It’s not just a distraction. It’s vulnerability. And I’ve already risen once from the ash with nothing but scorched pride and a spine of steel—I won’t scatter again. I can’t afford to.
“I said what I said.”
The corner of his mouth—not a smile, more a slight compression—acknowledges my obstinacy. “Then I’m coming.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.”
“This isn’t about need.” He steps closer, voice dipping into command. “It’s about operational security. You’re compromised terrain. Anyone smart would protect key terrain.”
“Is that what I am? Terrain?”
“Flammable terrain,” he corrects, his voice low, rough-edged.
