Jonah’s face twitched into a hesitant smile. “I’d go anywhere with you.”
Her chest tightened again, an unfamiliar warmth spreading through her. She forced out a dry chuckle, masking her discomfort. He tried to stand and stumbled, nearly face-planting.
She groaned. “Come on, you idiot. Hop on.” She squatted, offering her back.
“Can’t. My legs are broken.”
“They’re not broken.” Her patience was running thin. “Get on before I throw you over my shoulder.”
He leaped onto her back with a little too much enthusiasm, nearly knocking her over. With a grunt, she adjusted him and walked toward the elevator, carrying him easily.
Back in the room, she helped him out of his shoes and set his glasses on the nightstand. He clumsily tugged off his shirt, revealing his toned chest, and she quickly averted her eyes, turning to leave.
But then, his hand caught hers, tugging her gently back. “Please, Rubes... don’t leave me again.”
The irony of his plea, from a man who had years to reach out and never did, wasn’t lost on her. But despite everything, she found herself sitting on the floor beside him, gripping his hand tightly, the line between who was comforting whom blurring.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TCA TRAINING CAMP, four years ago.
Jonah didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. The whole hiring process had been so secretive, he still wasn’t sure if he’d been hired or conscripted. He had gone through more physical tests, background checks, and interviews than he ever had when he joined the fire department. One day, he was fighting wildfires in the northern part of Colorado, and the next, he was standing in an empty, sterile conference room, wondering what kind of job required this level of scrutiny. A man named Lucas had called his supervisor, not asking but telling him that Jonah was to join this new organization. The request had come with an edge of urgency, as if Jonah had no real choice in the matter.
His supervisor hadn’t fought it, passed along the message like he’d been expecting it. “This isn’t really a request,” he’d advised. “You’re being reassigned. Effective immediately.”
Reassigned. That’s what they called it when they pulled you from one life and threw you into another. He didn’t even have a clear picture of what this “new organization” was. He was told it was classified, but the pay was too good to argue over the details. The six figures they promised would go a long way toward helping his parents pay for his younger sister’s college tuition.
And the fact that his supervisor had looked genuinely nervous when he’d relayed the information made Jonah hesitate to ask too many questions. He’d learned a long time ago thatwhen someone in charge was scared, it was best to play along until you knew what you were dealing with.
Now, he sat in a room full of strangers, trying to make sense of the situation. The people around him weren’t like the firefighters he was used to—there was something different about them. Some of them looked like they didn’t belong anywhere near a fire line, too young or too soft. Others had the hard edges of soldiers or mercenaries. But the common thread was the same hollow, questioning look in their eyes—none of them knew what the hell was going on either.
Then Lucas came into the room. He was polished and carried himself with a quiet authority that commanded attention without saying a word. His eyes swept across the group, evaluating, sizing them up before settling on Jonah.
“So, you’re the firefighter,” Lucas said, his tone flat, without a hint of a question.
Jonah met his gaze, unsure of what to say. "That’s right."
Lucas gave a curt nod, then turned back to the rest of the room. "Welcome to the Thermophile Control Agency. You've been selected because you possess unique skills, skills that will be put to the test in ways you’ve never imagined."
Jonah’s stomach twisted. He didn’t know what the TCA was or what kind of “thermophiles” they were supposed to control, but from the look in Lucas's eyes, this wasn’t going to be anything like fighting wildfires.
JONAH COULDN’T WRAPhis head around it. Zombies. Creatures straight out of a bad sci-fi novel or a cheesy 70s movie, only they were real. The new recruits were told thermies burned their victims alive before eating their souls. It may be a load of shit, and yet part of his training at the TCA was focused on what they called “disposal.”
They didn’t get into the details—there was a team for that—but it was enough. Captured thermies were injected with an anesthetic and then burned. “Disposal.” The word grated on him every time he heard it. These weren’t creatures—they were people. At least, they had been. But the TCA had a way of stripping that humanity, using terms like “creature” and “disposal” to make it easier to stomach. For the greater good, they said. Thermies were too dangerous to live among normal people. They needed to be disposed of.
The night he first saw her, Jonah had been sitting with his roommates, listening to them laugh over a bet. The winner, whoever captured the highest-ranking thermophile by the end of the year, would walk away with a thousand dollars. Chump change compared to what the TCA paid, but enough to make someone forget that they were hunting people.
They had turned to him, waiting to see if he wanted in on the bet. Jonah stood up without a word, disgust churning in his gut. He left them behind and wandered through the halls, hours past curfew, unsure where he was going but knowing he couldn’t stay.
Jonah’s pulse quickened the moment he spotted one of his superiors down the hallway. Without thinking, he ducked into the nearest room, the door clicking softly shut behind him. His heart thudded in his chest as he took in his surroundings—a small library, dimly lit by the flickering glow of a fire. Shelves of books lined the walls, and a large couch along with a couple of overstuffed armchairs formed a cozy little refuge. It should’ve been comforting, but the warmth of the fire only reminded him of "disposal"—that cruel euphemism they used for what really happened to thermophiles. A shiver crawled up his spine despite the heat.
Movement caught his eye. On one of the armchairs, a figure shifted.
And there she was. From where he stood, Jonah could only see her in profile. Her short brown bob framed her face, the kind of cut that was practical, but still managed to look like it belonged in a high-fashion spread. Her cheekbones were high, contrasting with the roundness of her face, and her nose had a slight crook. She had an air of quiet defiance, as if the world had tried to break her, but she’d put herself back together stronger. There was something sad about her, though, something that tugged at him in a way he wasn’t prepared to admit yet.
She scowled at a book in her lap, her thin upper lip caught between her teeth. Behind her sunglasses, her expression was unreadable, but the tension in her body made her frustration clear.
He swallowed, not sure why he felt nervous. “Haven’t seen you before,” he blurted out, cringing inwardly at his awkwardness.
