Page 167 of At First Spark
“I’m fine.”
“Really?” she says sarcastically.
I glance down. My shoulder burns, the fabric torn, skin already angry beneath it.
Behind us, the barn continues to burn, flames climbing higher, spreading faster than anything we can contain now. The structure creaks under the strain, wood giving way in sharp cracks that echo across the yard.
Sirens cut through the distance—my team.
The yard fills quickly after that—lights flashing, voices overlapping, the controlled chaos of people who know what they’re doing moving into place. Mac is out of the truck before itfully stops, already shouting orders, already assessing the spread of the fire with a practiced eye.
His gaze finds me briefly, takes in the damage, then moves on. There’s no time for anything else.
Water hits the flames in heavy bursts, steam rising as it fights against the heat. The fire resists at first, pushing back, but it eventually gives under pressure.
Voices rise at the edge of the yard. I turn slightly, ignoring the protest in my shoulder.
Nolan stands near the edge of the scene, his expression tight, the weight of attention already settling on him in a way that feels inevitable. Too close. Too present. Like he didn’t just arrive. Like he’s been here longer than he should’ve been. My suspicions swirl at his opportunity.
Hadley steps in front of him without hesitation, her posture rigid, her voice cutting through the noise with a sharpness that stops more than one person mid-sentence.
“It wasn’t him. Take out your frustration on someone else.”
The certainty in her tone is absolute because Hadley doesn’t defend something unless she believes it.
Later, when the fire is finally contained and the barn is nothing more than a smoldering skeleton of what it once was, the adrenaline starts to fade. Pain builds where it didn’t exist before. Exhaustion follows close behind.
I stand at the edge of the wreckage, the air still thick with smoke, the ground damp beneath my boots where water soaked through ash and debris. Lark steps up beside me. Close enough that I can feel the warmth of her without looking. I’ve been in burning buildings that felt safer than standing this close to Lark and not touching her. Her hand finds mine without hesitation.
“This isn’t over,” she says quietly.
Everything worth anything is complicated.
I look at the remains of the barn.
“No,” I say.
This wasn’t a warning. This wasn’t a test.
I tighten my grip on Lark’s hand just slightly, grounding myself in something real, something solid, something that didn’t burn.
Whatever comes next—we’re not backing down. Not now. Not after this. Not after everything she just tried to take.
Chapter Thirty-two – Lark
The quiet after the fire feels wrong. By the time we get back to Holt’s house, the adrenaline has burned off into something heavier. Exhaustion settles in behind it, dragging at my limbs, at my thoughts, at the edges of everything that felt sharp and immediate just an hour ago. My clothes still smell like smoke, the scent clinging to my skin, my hair, the back of my throat in a way I don’t think will wash out easily.
Holt moves slower now. Not in a way anyone else would notice, but I do.
The way his shoulders hold tension just a fraction too tight. The way he favors one side when he reaches for the door. The controlled way he breathes, like he’s measuring every inhale instead of letting it come naturally.
“You need to sit,” I say the second the door closes behind us.
He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh if it didn’t carry so much strain. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay.”
We stand there for a second, the same argument we’ve had before hovering just under the surface. But this time, it feels different.
