My fingers shook as I dialed Marcus's number. He answered on the first ring, his voice rough with the same exhaustion that clawed at my edges.
"James?"
"I found him." The words tumbled out before I could soften them. "I know who's watching you."
A pause. Then, "Tell me."
"Elliot Raines. He was a fire academy candidate in 2012. Top of his class in fire behavior analysis until—" I swallowed hard. "Until he trapped three probationary firefighters in a training fire. Said he wanted them to understand what fire could do to them. What it could make them become."
"Walsh's old case." I heard the catch in Marcus's breath. "I remember him talking about it. A trainee who—"
"Who disappeared before they could press charges. But he didn't stop, Marcus. He found others who shared his beliefs about fire as transformation—a group called The Pyreborn Covenant."
"The chemical residues at the factory." I heard Marcus piecing everything together. "The artistic elements. He's not only studying me, is he?"
"No." My throat tightened. "He's trying to reshape you. Every fire, every message—steps in what he sees as your transformation. The way you push yourself in training, how you fight through pain... He sees it as preparation."
"For what?"
"His masterpiece. He's going to try to make you transcend through fire, like some sort of phoenix. Like he tried with thosetrainees. Like he's probably done to others we haven't found yet."
Silence stretched between us. When Marcus spoke again, his voice was edgy. "You're not telling me everything."
"The Olympia fire in 2017. Two victims. One was possibly a retired fire chief. But Marcus—their bodies weren't only burned. He positioned them."I swallowed hard.
"Firefighters found them kneeling, hands clasped together, almost like a prayer—or an offering. The heat had calcified their remains into statues of charred bone, backs unnaturally arched as if frozen in the moment of surrender. Marcus, it was like a dress rehearsal for what he's planning now."
"James. Come over."
"It's late, I should—"
"Please."
That single word shattered what remained of my professional distance. "Give me twenty minutes."
I gathered the most crucial files, knowing that removing them would violate a dozen regulations. But regulations didn't matter anymore—not when I finally understood what we were facing.
Not when I knew how much I stood to lose.
Not when taking them could save a life.
As I shut the last archive box, something caught my eye. A single sheet of paper,crisp and clean, rested on the table beside my notes. I hadn't pulled it from the files and knew it hadn't been there before.
The ink was fresh.
"Transformation is inevitable."
***
The drive to Marcus's apartment passed in a blur of streetlights and half-formed theories. Every shadow on the road could have been someone watching, documenting, and planning. My messenger bag sat heavy in the passenger seat, stuffed with records I'd probably lose my job over for removing them from the archives.
Rain started falling as I parked, fat drops.
Marcus's door opened before I could knock. He stood there in worn academy sweats. The apartment behind him smelled of coffee and his muscle rub.
"Show me everything," he said, stepping back to let me in.
I spread the files across his kitchen table, the same surface where we'd crossed professional lines just days ago. The irony wasn't lost on me. Neither was how his shoulder brushed mine as he leaned in to study Raines's academy photo.
