Wicked Embers

"What Burns Between"

The sun rose slowly over the tree line, stained amber from the lingering smoke. Reese stood at the edge of the lookout platform, her fingers wrapped around a chipped enamel mug. The coffee inside had gone cold, forgotten.

Behind her, Sky shifted in the cot, mumbling in their sleep, a quiet groan betraying the ache in their ankle. They’d refused the medevac. Told the EMTs that they weren’t going to be carted off unless the tower was on fire.

Reese hadn’t argued. Not this time.

But she hadn’t slept either.

She traced the edge of the mug with her thumb. In the vast silence of the mountains, the echoes of old flames stirred.

Jenna’s voice. Her laughter. The crackle of fire that stole it all away.

“Hey.”

Sky’s voice broke the reverie. They were sitting up now, blanket tangled around their waist, hair tousled, eyes still heavy with sleep.

“You’re up early,” they said, wincing as they swung their legs over the side.

Reese didn’t turn. “Didn’t sleep much.”

Sky hobbled over, barefoot and stubborn, and leaned on the railing beside her. Their shoulder brushed hers.

“Nightmares?”

Reese hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

Sky studied her in silence, the early light soft on their face. “Wanna talk about it?”

For a long moment, Reese didn’t answer. Then she exhaled—low, tight, like a slow-burning fuse letting go.

“She died in a canyon just like the one we took shelter in,” Reese said. “That’s where the fire jumped. We thought it was moving the other way. We were wrong.”

Sky didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt. They just waited.

Reese went on. “We’d marked the perimeter, same as yesterday. The reports said the wind was shifting north. So we climbed into that canyon to get out of the heat. She made some jokes about the rocks being like an oven. We laughed.”

A pause. A flicker of pain in her eyes.

“Then it turned. Fast. The wind snapped back around and brought the fire down on us in seconds. There wasn’t time to climb out.”

Reese finally looked at Sky.

“I ran. Jenna didn’t.”

The silence stretched. Sky reached out and took the mug from her hands, setting it aside before folding both of their hands over Reese’s.

“You didn’t run because you were a coward. You ran because the fire was coming, and instinct took over.”

“I should’ve pulled her,” Reese said, her voice cracking. “I should’ve made her move.”

“You shouldn’t have had to carry that alone.”

Reese blinked fast. “Afterward, I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t eat. They transferred me to a desk job in Portland. But I didn’t last.”

“That’s when you came here?”

She nodded. “I thought if I could face the towers again, maybe… I could rewrite the ending.”

Sky leaned their head against hers. “You’re not rewriting it. You’re writing a new one.”

Reese finally let herself lean back into them, letting the weight of guilt shift.

“It’s still there,” she whispered.

“I know. So is mine.”

They stood that way until the sun broke through the clouds, and the tower warmed in the gold hush of morning.

---

The quiet didn’t last.

By midafternoon, a dust-covered Forest Service SUV pulled up at the base of the tower. Reese watched through the binoculars, frowning.

Sky limped to the railing. “Who’s that?”

Reese didn’t answer right away.

Then: “Regional supervisor. Travis Whitman.”

He stepped out of the vehicle in slacks and a collared shirt, his tie loosened but still absurd in the wilderness. He looked up, shaded his eyes, and called out.

“N47 Lookout, requesting climb clearance.”

Reese swallowed hard. “This isn’t good.”

Sky raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because he only shows up when they’re looking to change things. Or pull people.”

---

Whitman was all smiles when he reached the platform, shaking Reese’s hand with oily confidence.

“Reese Callahan. Good to see you back in the field.”

She forced a polite nod. “Supervisor.”

He turned to Sky. “And you must be Sky Delgado. The paramedic s***h wildfire apprentice. I've been hearing interesting things.”

Sky folded their arms, unimpressed. “All true. Especially the part where I carried an unconscious ranger out of a ravine.”

Whitman chuckled. “No doubt. Quite the hero.”

He turned back to Reese. “Listen, I’ll be straight with you. After the Ridge 12 flare-up, there’s chatter at the regional office about redistributing staff. They’re thinking about closing a few of the lookouts—consolidating under drone surveillance.”

Reese went cold. “This tower’s active. We’re the only ones with a clear line of sight to both ridge lines.”

“I know,” Whitman said smoothly. “But we have budget cuts. And frankly, we’re not sure it’s efficient to have two personnel stationed together. There are protocols.”

Sky narrowed their eyes. “Protocols like what?”

Whitman gave them a bland smile. “Like limiting distractions.”

That landed like a gut punch.

Reese stepped forward. “If this is about our working relationship—”

“I’m not making accusations,” Whitman said quickly. “But personal entanglements on active fire sites can complicate command structures.”

Sky’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding? We just helped hold a perimeter line! Reese saved my life.”

Whitman’s smile thinned. “Which makes for a compelling story, sure. But if you’re planning to stay on beyond the emergency contract, Sky, we’ll have to assign you elsewhere. Possibly Redtail Station.”

Sky stiffened.

Reese saw it in their eyes—the blow, the instant bracing.

“Don’t make decisions yet,” Whitman added, backing toward the ladder. “Think about it. You’ve both done excellent work. This isn’t punitive. It’s just policy.”

Then he was gone, descending the tower like nothing had happened.

Reese didn’t move for a long time.

Neither did Sky.

---

That night, the wind picked up again, and neither of them lit the lanterns. The tower felt like a ghost of itself—too quiet, too still.

Reese sat on the floor, her back against the wall, knees drawn up.

Sky paced restlessly, then finally dropped onto the cot beside her.

“They’re splitting us up,” Sky said, not a question.

“Looks that way.”

“I didn’t even think they’d care. That they’d notice.”

Reese ran a hand through her hair. “They always notice. Out here, your shadow’s bigger than your body.”

Sky slumped forward. “I don’t want to go to Redtail. It’s two hours from here. They’ll stick me in a base camp medical tent. No lookout work. No Reese.”

Reese bit her lip. “If you stay, they might pull me.”

“Then what are we supposed to do? Just let them break us apart like it’s nothing?”

The words stung.

Reese turned to face them. “What are we to each other, Sky? Really?”

Sky blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we’re just a hookup in the woods, then maybe they’re right. Maybe it’s not worth fighting for.”

Sky stood, anger flaring in their eyes. “Is that what you think this is?”

“I don’t know what this is!” Reese shot back. “We barely made it out alive yesterday, and today they’re threatening to scatter us. It feels like I’m losing everything again, and I don’t even know what I’m trying to hold onto.”

Sky stared at her for a moment, breath sharp.

Then, quietly: “You’re trying to hold onto me.”

Reese didn’t move.

Sky stepped closer. “And I’m holding on, too.”

Their hands found each other in the dark. Fingers trembling, not with fear—but with the weight of the decision ahead.

“If they split us up,” Sky said, “I’ll fight it. I’ll appeal. File a formal objection. Hell, I’ll quit and stay in this tower with you until the snow closes the pass.”

Reese shook her head. “You can’t throw your career away for me.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not worth that.”

Sky’s voice cracked. “Yes. You are.”

Reese looked away, breath catching.

Sky reached out, cupping her face again—gentle, insistent.

“You’re worth all of it. Every damn second. Fire, smoke, wind, pain. I’m here for it. For you.”

The silence broke like glass between them.

And then they kissed—slow and certain, not a spark but a flame banked deep in the hearth.

---

Later, when they lay tangled together under the stars, Reese whispered:

“Promise me we’ll find a way.”

Sky pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I already am.”

---