Chapter 2

The drive back to the station was quiet, the unspoken words hanging heavy in the cab of the engine. My crew knew, they must have known, but no one said anything. What could they say against the Chief and his son?

I stripped off my turnout gear, the smell of smoke clinging to me, a bitter reminder. My arm throbbed where a fresh ember had singed it, a small price for their negligence.

At home, the air was different, artificially calm. Chloe was on the sofa, recounting her "harrowing experience" at the command post to my mother, Susan. Mom was stroking Chloe's hair, her face a mask of concern.

"Oh, Aly, you're back," Mom said, her voice distracted. "Dinner's almost ready. Go wash up, you reek of smoke."

No questions about the fire, about my safety. Just an instruction.

Later, after a silent dinner where Chloe's bravery for "enduring the stress" was the main topic, Mom found me in the cramped guest room I'd been given when I was found.

My old bedroom, the one I remembered from before the abduction, was now Chloe's elaborate "hobby room," filled with her art supplies and yoga mats.

"Alyssa," Mom began, her tone carefully neutral. "Your father and Eric are under a lot of stress. That fire was terrible."

I waited.

"You need to be more understanding," she continued. "Don't add to it with accusations. Chloe was very traumatized by the whole thing, you know. She's sensitive."

Understanding. Traumatized. Sensitive. Words that never applied to me, not in this house.

I remembered the important drill, the one that could have helped my early career. My turnout gear, freshly cleaned, had been "accidentally" soaked by Chloe spilling a large can of paint thinner on it just hours before.

I was reprimanded for not having proper gear, for being unprepared.

Chloe had cried, saying it was an accident, and my parents had rushed to comfort her, telling me not to make her feel worse.

I remembered countless birthdays where my small gift was overshadowed by Chloe's extravagant party.

Countless school achievements of mine that were met with a nod, while Chloe's C-grade art project was framed and praised for weeks.

The realization wasn't a sudden flash, more like a slow, cold dread seeping into my bones. They wouldn't just sideline me for Chloe. They would let me burn for her.

The burn on my arm, the one Eric dismissed as clumsiness, suddenly felt like a brand.