Page 32 of Burn Protocol

Elena’s voice cuts through my thoughts, and the sharpness behind her words cuts deep into my chest. I nod sheepishly and press record, before looking at my little notebook.

“El, you lead your crew into dangerous territory quite steadily. How do you stay calm in all that chaos?”

She tenses at my use of her nickname, the one she liked only a week ago. You fucking idiot. I feel the tears spring to my eyes and I have to press my nails into my palms to keep them from spilling. Elena tilts her head and inhales deeply.

“It’s training. Hours and hours of practice. When you call the shots, you don’t have the luxury of letting fear overpower your thoughts. My crew looks to me, and it is my job to keep them safe. So, I manage my breathing, my speech, and my thinking. One decision at a time. The fear is there, but it doesn’t get to drive.”

Her answer is calm and collected. It tells a lot about her and who she is, how she operates. More than that, it’s helpful for my article. It’s just also… layered with frost. I run my tongue over my lip and nod. Her eyes quickly dart to my mouth, before she lifts them to meet mine again.

“Do you ever doubt your own orders?” My voice is soft now, tentative almost.

Elena looks at me for a moment, the only sound being the rain that crashes down on the roof, before she scoffs.

“I don’t get the luxury of acting on fear. I don’t get the luxury of doubt. We are surrounded by smoke, have flames curling around us, and have people screaming into our earpieces. I have to trust my instincts. If I hesitate, people can die. People will die.”

I nod, understanding her perfectly well. “But, after?” I add quickly.

“After?” Her eyes flash to me and her jaw ticks once. “Yes. There are nights I lie awake, wondering if I made the wrong call. I go over it and over it in my head, wondering if I should have pulled out my crew faster, or not have sent them in at all. I study those situations and learn from them. I need to ask these questions. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be fit to lead.”

“So how do you decide who goes in then, and who stays outside?”

Elena frowns, almost confused at my question. She keeps her gaze on me as she answers, slowly and deliberately.

“I don’t. It’s a matter of speed. Whoever moves fastest or is closest gets to go in. If they don’t have enough air, they stay out. If they are trained for a specific threat, they go in. If they are overwhelmed, they get to cool off. It’s not about choice. It’s about knowing my team.” She leans forward, boring her eyes into mine. “When I send somebody in, I have to trust they come back. That’s my responsibility.”

Her eyes don’t leave mine, but she pauses for a moment. The tension suddenly coils. I part my lips, uncertain if I should speak or not, when she tilts her head and scoffs again.

“You called me a hero. That’s not what I am. I am the one responsible when the comm line goes dead. The one holding that silence.”

I gasp for air as her words hit me like a punch. What I thought was just playful banter is now being tossed back at my feet with disdain. From a woman running so cold, she could out-freeze a polar vortex. My lip trembles as I nod and lower my eyes.

“Was that all?” Her voice is clipped.

I nod and reach for my recorder. There are at least a dozen more questions I wanted to ask her, but I can’t bear her scrutiny any longer. I push my chair back, suddenly feeling sick. The air in the cantina feels too hot, too stuffy, and I need to get out. I need to get away from her.

“Excuse me,” I breathe, as I rush for the iron stairs.

Elena only arches her eyebrow, but doesn’t follow me. Instead, she gets up to get her coffee, like nothing has happened.

I release my breath as Maya walks down the stairs. It’s so fucking hard to keep things strictly professional. Especially because it’s hurting her. I know she doesn’t understand, but I have to keep my distance. She made it clear that this is just work to her.

Still, last Friday I almost kissed her. But then her words echoed through my head. “Good thing this isn’t a date…” The text that followed on Sunday wasn’t much better. I had expected banter. A tease about the restaurant quality. But she went straight for the jugular. A bloody interview request. Fucking hell. And I just knew I needed to rein in my feelings. Feelings. That’s what this is. I can fight it, deny it, curse it. It doesn’t change. Maya Carter has gotten under my skin.

A loud sound snaps me from my thoughts. I instantly raise my head to the overhead speaker and reach for my radio on my belt.

“Engine 2, rescue 4, respond to a technical rescue. Minor trapped in drainage pipe. Screaming heard. Heavy rainfall, water rising. Location underground, entrance at the crossing of Carrer València and Sant Joan. People at the scene to guide. Time out: 08:49.”

By the time the call finishes, my boots touch the main floor. I bolt to my locker to gear up. Fernandes and Rivera are already jumping into their pants, while Rodriques, Díaz, and Carter come running from the changing rooms.

My eyes linger on Maya for a fraction of a second. She is already working herself into her coat. Good girl. No! I snap back into focus. I wrestle my fingers into the waterproof gloves, yank my helmet from its hook, and tell Díaz to grab our harnesses. Rosa tosses me the water rescue kit and grabs the confined space monitor from the shelf.

Maya has already climbed into the truck, but we are right behind her. In under a minute, the sirens blast and we roll out.

“Step on it, Díaz.” I snap. “If that pipe floods, we’ll lose the kid.”

Everyone is on edge. The moment kids are involved, everything changes. Even Maya’s face is sharp, urgent. She looks a bit white around the nose, and her jaw is set. I want to open my mouth and order her to stay in the truck, when my radio crackles.

“Dispatch to Engine 2, please give your ETA, water climbing.”