I gripped the wheel too hard, causing the leather to creak under my fingers.
"What happened?" My voice came out tight, barely restrained.
"They were looking for something."
"And torched your place to find it?"
A sharp exhale—somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, but hollow. "Guess I got too close."
Something snapped inside me.
I turned onto a side street harder than necessary, the tires skidding slightly before catching. James didn't react, but I saw how his hand curled tighter around his injured arm, fingers pressing into his sleeve just above the burn. He was in pain. Hewouldn't admit it, but I saw it in the way he held himself and in the stiff control of his movements.
I glanced at him, my grip tightening on the wheel. "You need a hospital."
"No, I don't." The answer came too fast.
"James."
"I've had worse." His voice was even, almost clinical.
I exhaled sharply, forcing my temper down. "The skin—"
"It's a second-degree burn, maybe lower end of third in spots, but I don't think there's nerve damage. It just needs to be cleaned and dressed."
"So, you do need medical attention."
James sighed, tipping his head back against the seat. "Not from a hospital. We both know they'd ask questions neither of us want to answer."
I clenched my jaw. He wasn't wrong, but the thought of doing nothing made my pulse hammer harder.
"Fine," I said, taking the next turn a little sharper than necessary. "But you're letting me dress it."
James looked at me, the barest trace of amusement in his expression. "Since when do you have burn treatment credentials?"
I rolled my shoulders. "Since half my crew's walked out of fires looking like you."
He didn't argue after that. He didn't thank meeither, but his posture relaxed visibly.
Trust.
It was something, at least.
The sirens faded behind us. The night stretched quiet, thick, oppressive. I wanted to break it. Wanted to make him understand that this wasn't just another incident report. That this was him, bleeding into the cracks of something much bigger, and I wasn't about to sit back and let it happen.
I slammed my palm against the wheel. "Jesus Christ."
That made him look at me. Just for a second. Then, he responded in a low, calm voice. "This isn't the first time someone's tried to burn evidence."
"No, but it's the first time you were inside while it happened."
He didn't have an answer for that. His grip on his arm tightened again.
I should have slowed down. I should have said something else, something measured, but I couldn't find the words.
All I could see was his sleeve burned into his skin. All I could smell was the smoke in his hair, and all I could hear was how his voice nearly broke when he said, "Guess I got too close."
I kept driving, pushing further from the flames and the wreckage of what should have been James's safe place. He was no longer safe anywhere. And neither was I.
