“Did you get what you needed?” he asked.
“I did,” Tessa said.
Burke nodded once, then stepped out into the bullpen like he was bracing himself for impact.
No one moved.
Tessa looked again at the photo—Sara’s open joy, Scout’s easy grin. Relief cut through her, sharp and guilty.
Get it together, Quinn.
She slipped the photo back into the file and reached for her jacket.
When she stepped into the bullpen, conversation stalled. Eyes followed her.
You don’t question one of us.
It reminded her of her first posting—the weight in the room when she’d reported misconduct against a hometown favorite. Back then, her hands had shaken.
Now, they were steady.
Near the command board, Luke Hale glanced up and gave a small, deliberate nod.
It helped more than she expected.
Miller’s Ridge—Afternoon
Mist crawled low across the field where search crews regrouped. Floodlights glowed dull against the gray. Fatigue weighed on everymovement—on every shoulder, every step, every set of eyes that refused to stop scanning the tree line.
As Tessa stepped from her SUV, the chatter dipped.
“That’s her,” someone muttered.
She ignored it.
Burke stood over the map with the fire chief, finger tracking grid lines like they were veins. Scout checked his radio nearby, shoulders tight, gaze fixed toward the mountain like he could will the fog to lift.
The air between them was thick but controlled.
Luke Hale shifted closer. “Ma’am—update from the south grid?”
Jenkins muttered something under his breath.
Scout turned his head, measured and sharp. “If you want to help,” he said evenly, “then help. Otherwise let her do her job.”
Silence.
The men who’d been half-smirking a minute ago suddenly found reasons to look at their boots.
When the group dispersed, Scout remained by the truck, hands braced on the tailgate like he was holding himself in place.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Tessa said quietly.
“Yeah,” he replied. “I did.”
A beat.
“You’d have done the same.”
