He walks away with his shoulders hunched. I watch him go until he’s swallowed up by the dark before limping the rest of the way home, my hip screaming with every step.
When I get to my apartment, I don’t even bother with the lights. I find a plastic bag and fill it with ice to press against my hip. Then I sink down into the couch and press the ice into place.
I fight the urge to use heat instead. It’d feel more soothing, but I know Zev is right.
CHAPTER 10
No one talks much after a twenty-hour shift at the fire house. But you never forget the sound of the alarm. It cuts through everything—dreams and headaches all the same. It pierces out now, shattering the low tide hum of a squad closing in on the twenty-four-hour mark.
Dispatch barks out the address. I freeze with dishes half-washed still in my hands. Old Harbor Plaza, apartment complex, floor three. It’s the cast apartments for Reverie’s entire summer cast, where Connor and Grace are living.
Panic coils tight in my chest.Shit.
I drop the dishes into the sink and head for the trucks.
Captain Vega meets us there, already halfway into his coat. “Let’s put a move on, people!”
We’re in the cab before a minute more has passed, and at the scene in less than ten. People are still spilling out onto the sidewalk in pajamas. I force myself into protocol mode as we hop out of the truck and make our way toward the building.
Vega gives his quick preamble. “Third floor. Most likely a kitchen. Don’t get cocky. Eyes open, heads down. Murphy, you’re on entry with me.”
I spot Connor in the crowd, standing shirtless in sweatpants with his arms folded. His posture is casual but a muscle in his jaw ticks with tension. “Fowler.”
“Are you okay?”
He nods. “It’s nothing, man. Pretty sure it’s a false alarm. Some assholes were cooking something that reeked up the whole floor. Unit 306.”
“Still have to check it. Is everyone accounted for?”
Connor shrugs. “As far as I can tell. For the cast at least. Not sure about anyone else who lives here.” He looks up at the building, where people press up against windows for a look at the world below rather than evacuating. “I think she’s still inside.”
He doesn’t need to say who.
Better hope it’s a false alarm, then.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
I follow Vega and the rest of my squad. Our boots pound the concrete while my mind ping-pongs between the mental blueprint of the building and the memory of Grace’s voice telling me not to worry about her. Inside, the lobby’s been scrubbed raw by the night exodus. A layer of wet footprints and panicked scent lingers in the air. We hit the stairs two at a time and get to the third floor in under a minute. Vega splits us up.
The alarm’s still keening, but the halls are empty. I count off the doors until 306. No smoke or heat signature worth mentioning, just the faint burnt-sugar stench of overdone caramel or maybe marshmallow vodka. I bang the door twice, hard.
It opens to reveal a kid who looks about eighteen wearing a gold bathrobe and nothing else. Behind him, a trio others peek over the couch.
“False alarm?” I ask, even though I already know.
The gold-robe kid shrugs. “We made bananas foster and it sort of, uh, became a spectacle.”
I scan the apartment. Sure enough, there’s a burnt frying pan cooling on the glass-top stove alongside a half-melted plastic spatula fossilized into the burner. I wave my heat sensor around just to do the thing, but there’s nothing above lukewarm.
“Don’t do that again,” I say.
The kid salutes me in reply. I leave before I say something I’ll regret. There are worst calls to get at the end of your day-long shift, but this shit is annoying as hell.
I close up and start back toward the stairs. On the way, I pass by a lounge alcove that overlooks the parking lot. There’s a figure standing by the window, hoodie up and bare legs sticking out below the hem. Legs I’d recognize anywhere long before her roses scent hits my nose.
Grace. She’s talking low to another girl—Charlotte, I think—who’s wrapped in a blanket and looking worried.
Grace doesn’t see me right away. She’s focused on the lights outside, her posture loose but her hands balled in the pocket of her Old Harbor University hoodie.
