Page 9 of Flashpoint
Translation: watch the awkward investigator pretend to be in love.
Camera flashes explode as we step forward. My glasses catch the light, probably making me look like a deer caught in headlights. A very nerdy, extremely uncomfortable deer.
Aiden squeezes my hand. His thumb traces a small circle across my knuckles—invisible to the crowd, but my entire nervous system registers the contact like a five-alarm call.
Aiden launches into his presentation about fire prevention with that natural confidence I used to find insufferable. Now, watching him explainladder operations to a cluster of eager kids, I'm finding it... problematic.
A girl with pigtails and grass-stained knees pushes to the front. "How high does the ladder go?"
"Can you really break down doors?" A boy bounces beside her.
Aiden crouches to their eye level without missing a beat, his entire demeanor shifting to match their energy. When he notices a shy six-year-old hanging back, he unclips his helmet and walks over.
"Want to try this on? It's heavier than it looks."
The kid's face lights up like Christmas morning. His mother fumbles for her phone, but Aiden's focus stays on the boy, adjusting the strap with careful attention.
"There you go, buddy. Now you look official."
The kid beams. His mother mouths "thank you" over his head, and Aiden just nods like this is nothing. Like making a shy child feel special is just part of the job description.
Something twists in my chest—warm and unexpected.
He's good with kids. Really good. Not performative good—genuine good. The kind of good that comes from actually caring whether a shy six-year-old feels included.
An elderly woman tugs my sleeve. "You two make such a lovely couple. How long have you been together?"
The question sends my brain into immediate crisis mode. Hazel gave us talking points for this. What were the talking points? Something about organic connection and mutual respect and?—
"It's recent," I hear myself say. "We're still figuring things out."
The woman pats my arm. "The best ones take time, dear. My Howard and I couldn't stand each other for the first two years. Married fifty-three years next month."
Fifty-three years. With someone who started as an adversary.
I file that information away and excuse myself to check on... something. Anything. The fire truck, maybe. Fire trucks don't ask uncomfortable questions about relationship timelines.
Aiden catches my eye across the crowd and raises an eyebrow.You okay?
I give him a small nod that probably reads as "totally fine" and absolutely does not communicate "an elderly stranger just asked about our relationship timeline and I had a minor stroke."
The demonstration continues. Aiden walks thecrowd through stop-drop-and-roll with the help of three enthusiastic children who treat the ground like a gymnastics mat. He explains smoke detector maintenance using props that Hazel must have prepared. He makes fire safety genuinely entertaining, which shouldn't be possible and yet here we are.
I hate that I'm noticing this. I hate that it matters.
"Quite the publicity stunt."
The voice slices through the lighter atmosphere like a scalpel. Lieutenant Wade approaches with military-straight posture, his pressed uniform radiating disapproval. Sharp blue eyes fix on Aiden with calculated precision.
"Hope the cameras are getting your good side, Gentry."
The temperature drops about ten degrees. Nearby families pause their conversations, sensing the shift.
Aiden straightens slowly, his easy smile going careful. "Just focusing on community education, Lieutenant."
"Right." Wade's gaze slides to me, cold and assessing. "And you, Pritchard? Finding public relations more interesting than actual investigation work?"
The words land like a punch. My deepest fearabout this arrangement, spoken aloud by someone who clearly means it as an insult.
