Page 6 of Igniting Her

“And an unchecked roof over your head.”

“Teak cleared it.”

“After you advanced.”

Ridge’s jaw tightened. “By a few feet.”

“Fire doesn’t grade on a curve.” Cassie kept her voice level. “You left the position I assigned, separated from the company supporting you, and made me obtain your location over the radio during a developing incident. Which part of that should impress me?”

Color rose beneath the soot on Ridge’s cheeks. “We got the knockdown.”

“Tonight, you got the outcome you wanted. That’s not the same as making the right decision.”

“It wasn’t luck.” The speed of the answer told Cassie this argument had begun long before Santa Vera.

“No. Luck would be less concerning. You’re skilled enough to make dangerous choices work often enough that people may stop correcting you.” Ridge flinched. It was small. No one else at the table would have seen it. Cassie did. She continued anyway, because command was not kindness and wanting to spare someone didn’t make sparing them right. “On my fireground, freelancing ends now. If I tell you to hold, you hold. If conditions change, you report them and wait for direction. You do not make your own assignment because you believe you have a better view from inside the smoke. Are we clear?”

For a moment, Ridge looked ready to keep arguing. Then her face settled. “Clear, Captain.”

“Good. Get cleaned up. Reports at eight.” Chairs moved back. Conversation did not resume. Mo touched Ridge once between the shoulder blades as the crew dispersed, but she stepped away before the gesture could become comfort.

Cassie remained at the table until everyone had gone. Her hands were still wrapped around the chair. She loosened them one finger at a time. In her office, she opened the helmet-camera footage from Jamie’s unit. SVFD issued cameras to every interior firefighter for training and post-incident review, and Jamie’s angle had remained the clearest. It began at the loading door in a wash of smoke and reflected fire. The image pitched with every step. Ridge was visible ahead, low on the line, one gloved hand braced behind the nozzle.

Cassie watched her reach the ten-foot mark. Pause. Turn her head toward the rollover gathering above the east aisle. Calculate. Move. Jamie followed because a good backup firefighter stayed with the nozzle. Ridge used short pulses into the overhead, cooling the gases without destroying the thermal layer. She advanced with astonishing control, never wasting water, reading conditions through her gloves and knees and the changing push of smoke. When the fire flared after the windows failed, she opened the pattern, drove it back, and kept the line between her crew and the exit. Ridge was the most naturally gifted firefighter Cassie had seen in at least a decade. Every technical choice after the first disobedience was excellent, which only made that first choice worse.

Cassie watched the footage twice. The second time, she muted the sound. Without the radio traffic, Cassie could study the mechanics: the set of Ridge’s shoulders, the quick shift of weight before she opened the nozzle, the refusal to give ground simply because conditions had worsened. She had watched another firefighter move exactly that way. Time hadn’t softened the recognition. She shut the laptop harder than necessary.

The office went quiet.

Beyond the interior window, Ridge crossed the apparatus bay fresh from the shower, damp hair braided short against her neck. She laughed at something Teak said. From a distance it almost sounded normal. Then she glanced toward the office as if she had felt Cassie watching. Cassie lowered her attention to the incident report before their eyes could meet.

By seven, the kitchen smelled of coffee, bacon, and the toast Jamie had burned while trying to do three things at once. Cassie reached the corridor outside the day room in time to hear Mo sigh. “Nobody thaws the Ice Captain, kid,” he said.

“Who said I wanted to?”

“Your face, every time she walks into a room.”

Half a second passed. Then Ridge laughed. “My face is naturally curious.”

“Your face is going to get you assigned to hydrants until retirement. And there’s a reason she is the way she is. Leave it alone.” Cassie waited for him to say more. He didn’t.

Neither did Ridge.

The tablet dimmed in Cassie’s hand. Through the doorway, she could see the edge of the long table and Ridge’s soot-stained knuckles curled around a coffee mug. Young, gifted, reckless. Already searching the station for doors Cassie had spent years sealing shut.

Mo was right.

Cassie stepped into the kitchen, and every trace of the conversation disappeared beneath the ordinary sounds of breakfast. She let it. Silence had kept Cassie functional for twelve years. It could keep one reckless firefighter out.

3

ELLIE

On Ellie’s third morning at Station 12, Captain Everett scheduled ladder drills.

The timing was suspicious. The warehouse fire had followed Ellie through the rest of her first shift, four days off, and every silence since she’d come back. Cassie had not mentioned the reprimand again; she hadn’t needed to. Ellie could still hear her whenever the station grew too quiet: “You’re skilled enough to make dangerous choices work often enough that people may stop correcting you.”

The drill tower stood behind the apparatus bay, four stories of concrete with blackened windows and a roofline built for suffering. By eight, the sun had cleared the station wall. Heat collected in the yard and sharpened the smell of rope, dust, and aluminum.