Captain Eva Rostova—no relation to the pilot, just a common name in a city of heroes—knew fire. She understood its hunger, its voice, a roaring beast that consumed everything in its path. But the inferno at the old Ashton Mill was different. It was too hot, too fast, moving with an unnatural, intelligent fury.
“Team Two, we’ve got multiple civilians trapped on the third floor, western wing. The primary stairwell is gone. You’re the only way in,” the radio crackled.
Bravery.
Eva led her crew through a hellscape of buckling steel and raining embers. They found the civilians—a group of five, including two children—huddled in a corner office, the flames licking at the doorframe. The rescue was a symphony of controlled chaos: the reassuring crackle of the radio, the hiss of the hose, the guiding beam of her flashlight in the choking smoke.
As she carried a young girl out, Eva’s boot kicked something metallic amidst the debris. A small, cylindrical device, not a piece of mill equipment. A chemical igniter. Her blood ran colder than the water on her coat.
This was no accident.
Back outside, as her crew treated the civilians, Eva reported her find to Chief Henderson. His face, usually a mask of stoic command, tightened. “Leave it, Rostova. The fire marshal will handle the investigation. You’ve done your job.”
But the conspiratorial tone, the dismissive wave of his hand—it felt like gasoline on the suspicion now burning inside her. The Mill was slated for redevelopment by a powerful corporation, Kronos Inc. The insurance payout would be enormous.
Alone for a moment, Eva hacked into the dispatch log on her rugged tablet. The first call about the fire had come in before the first visible smoke was reported. An impossible prediction. The call was traced to a disposable comms unit, but the signal was pinged off a tower owned by Kronos Security.
Conspiracy.
She had no proof, only a firefighter’s instinct and a few damning clues. And then her radio buzzed with a new, frantic dispatch. “All units, secondary fire reported at the Kronos-owned warehouse on Dock 7! Multiple workers trapped.”
It was a pattern. A distraction. A way to stretch the department thin and destroy another property for a payout. And her crew was being sent right into it.
Eva made a choice. As her engine screamed towards the docks, she broadcast on an open emergency channel, her voice clear and sharp over the siren’s wail.
“Dispatch, all units, be advised! The Dock 7 fire is a suspected arson, linked to the Ashton Mill fire. Evidence points to a planned ignition. The primary threat is structural collapse, not fire spread. Proceed with extreme caution. This is Captain Rostova, signing off.”
It was career suicide. It was insubordination. But it was the truth.
At the dock, Chief Henderson met her with a look of pure fury, but he couldn’t countermand her warning. The crews adjusted their tactics, fighting not the beast, but its cage. They saved the workers.
The investigation that followed would be long, but the seed was planted. Eva stood by her rig, the heat of the fire on her face, the cool night air at her back. She had crossed a line, not of duty, but of silence. She had fought the fire, and now, she would fight the people who started it.
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