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Dust and sparks explode around us. Nobody speaks for a moment.

Then:

"Everyone accounted for?"

I check. One by one. All clear. The civilians are located. The fire is contained. The structure is unstable but no longer actively threatening lives. A successful response. A good outcome.

So why does my chest feel like something is wrong?

I remove my helmet once we are outside. Cold air hits my face. The fire continues burning behind the perimeter, but the worst is over. Reporters are already gathering beyond the barricades. They always appear after the danger passes.

People want the aftermath. The explanation. The story. They don't want the moments where everything could have gone wrong.

My phone vibrates. A message from dispatch.

Incident review required. Unusual readings flagged.

I stare at the screen. Unusual readings. Interesting choice of words.

"Rhett."

I look up. Molly stands beside the command vehicle holding a tablet. She is one of the few people I trust enough to interrupt my thoughts.

"You saw it too."

Not a question. I glance around.

"Saw what?"

She gives me a look. The same look she has given me since we were teenagers. The one that says she knows exactly when I am pretending not to understand something.

"The thermal anomaly."

I don't respond. Molly lowers her voice.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

I wish I could.

"It’s unclear what I saw."

"That's not the same thing."

"No."

She studies me.

"You felt something."

That catches my attention. Because she doesn't mean the fire. She means something else. Something I haven't mentioned. Something I won’t be examining too closely.

I look back toward the factory. For one brief second, I felt it. A pull. Not physical. Not exactly. A sensation deep beneath instinct. Like something had reached through all the noise and chaos and demanded my attention.

Then it disappeared.

I have spent my entire life trusting my instincts. It is how I survived. It is how I became good at this. But lately my instincts have been pointing toward things I don't understand. And I don't like that.

"I need the incident logs," I say.