Ember Eyes
1697 Words
The forest was quiet—too quiet. Reese stood at the edge of the cliff behind the tower, arms crossed, watching the tree line where the rising sun threw long shadows through the pines. The early morning chill hadn’t lifted yet, but she wore only a thin long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows, her body too taut with thought to notice the cold.
Behind her, the tower loomed. And inside it? Trouble.
Sky Quinn.
Reese clenched her jaw. She could still feel the warmth of Sky’s laughter from last night, trailing up the ladder like smoke, twisting around her ankles, teasing, curling. They hadn’t even done anything—not really—but she’d lain awake, her cot impossibly narrow and hot, their presence clinging to the room like humidity.
Sky’s laugh.
Sky’s eyes.
Sky’s f*****g everything.
Reese turned away from the cliff, boot heels grinding into loose gravel, and headed back toward the tower. She needed to shake this off. She’d gone through worse. Hell, she’d survived deployment-like wildfire assignments. Close quarters with a beautiful disaster shouldn’t be this hard.
Inside, the scent of fresh coffee hit her nose.
Sky was already up.
Of course.
They were seated at the tiny folding table by the window, legs tucked up, still in pajamas—a rainbow tank top and boxer shorts decorated with tiny peaches. They looked like they belonged in a city café, not a fire lookout, but somehow, in the golden morning light, they fit.
Sky turned when Reese stepped in, their grin instant. “Look who decided to join the land of the living.”
“I was up at five,” Reese muttered, heading for the percolator.
“Brooding over the sunrise again?”
Reese ignored that. “You touch my logs?”
Sky raised both hands. “I only touch things that ask nicely.”
A flicker of something darker passed across Reese’s expression. Sky must have caught it, because their smile faltered—just a second—but then returned, softer.
“I didn’t touch your paperwork, ranger. Just made coffee. Peace offering.”
Reese poured herself a mug. Black. No sugar. No milk. Just bitter and necessary. “Don’t you have photos to take?”
Sky shrugged. “Caught a time-lapse at dawn. Got some good flare through the smoke haze. I might hike east later. Trail’s quiet, but the golden hour’s calling.”
“Don’t go near Sector 7. Trail’s unstable.”
Sky tilted their head, watching her. “You always this warm in the morning?”
“I’m not here to babysit a camera jockey,” Reese snapped, instantly regretting it.
Sky’s face closed just slightly. “Right. Got it.”
The silence after that wasn’t comfortable. Reese felt it pressing in around her, louder than any wildfire alarm.
She took her mug and sat on the opposite end of the table, muscles tense. “Sorry,” she muttered after a beat. “Didn’t mean that.”
Sky blinked at her. “Did you just apologize?”
“I’m capable.”
Sky leaned forward, propping their chin on their hand. “Color me shocked.”
Reese groaned. “You’re relentless.”
“You like that about me.”
Reese sipped her coffee to avoid answering. But damn it, she did.
Something about Sky—the way they challenged her, pushed past her walls like a wildfire under dry brush—made her feel more alive than she’d been in years. And it terrified her.
“You said yesterday you were heading to the river bend,” Reese said instead. “Why didn’t you?”
Sky shrugged. “Got distracted.”
Reese arched a brow. “By?”
“By someone yelling at a squirrel for knocking over a weather gauge.”
“I didn’t yell.”
Sky snorted. “You practically declared war.”
A reluctant smirk tugged at Reese’s mouth. “That squirrel’s a menace.”
“It was cute.”
“It peed on my map.”
Sky laughed—a real one this time, belly-deep and infectious. Reese looked away, but her lips twitched.
“You’re impossible,” she muttered.
Sky stood and stretched, arms overhead, tank top riding up to reveal a line of smooth stomach. “You coming with me today?”
Reese blinked. “What?”
“Trail hike. East ridge. I’ve got a new lens I want to test, and I could use a guide. Unless you’re scared I’ll outpace you.”
Reese scoffed. “You couldn’t.”
“Then prove it.”
Reese stared at them. The smart thing would be to say no. Stay here. File reports. Watch from afar like always.
But the tower felt small this morning.
And Sky… Sky looked like the kind of trouble worth sweating for.
“Give me ten minutes,” Reese said.
Sky’s eyes glittered like embers. “Knew you had a soft spot for peaches.”
---
The trail east of the tower sloped gently upward at first, winding between tall firs and sun-dappled underbrush. Sky flitted ahead like a butterfly, stopping every few minutes to crouch, adjust their lens, shoot from odd angles.
Reese followed at a slower pace, eyes scanning the ridges, every sense on alert. She didn’t trust the quiet. It was too dry. Too still. Her training thrummed beneath her skin.
“Hey,” Sky called, waving her over to a clearing. “Check this light.”
She stepped over roots and came up beside them, looking down at the valley below.
The early sun bathed the trees in gold. Mist still clung to the lower pines, curling like smoke.
“Damn,” she muttered.
Sky beamed. “Right?”
They lifted their camera again, catching shot after shot in rapid succession. Reese watched them, the way their brow furrowed in concentration, tongue caught between their teeth.
“You really love this,” she said quietly.
Sky didn’t look away. “It’s the only thing that’s never lied to me. Light doesn’t pretend. It either shows up or it doesn’t.”
Reese hesitated. “People lie to you often?”
Sky’s smile faltered. “More than I’d like.”
Reese looked away. “Same.”
A long silence passed.
Then Sky said, “What happened to you?”
Reese turned sharply. “Excuse me?”
“You carry things like they’re stitched into your bones.”
“I don’t talk about the past.”
Sky nodded slowly. “Fair. But if you ever want to… I listen real good.”
They meant it. Reese could tell. It made her chest ache.
The kind of ache that came before a storm.
“I’m not your project,” she said softly.
Sky stepped closer. “You’re not. You’re just… interesting.”
“No one calls me that.”
“They should.”
Reese’s mouth went dry. The air between them shifted. Closer. Hotter.
Sky looked up at her, eyes wide, open. “You feel it too, don’t you?”
Reese didn’t answer.
Didn’t move.
Because she did feel it.
This fire burning under her skin.
But stepping into it? She wasn’t sure she’d survive.
Sky leaned in, almost brushing their shoulder against hers.
Reese’s breath hitched.
“I—” she began, but the radio at her hip crackled, sharp and urgent.
She stepped back instinctively, fumbling for it.
“This is Tower One,” she said. “Go ahead.”
The dispatcher’s voice came through, static but clear. “Small flare-up reported west quadrant, coordinates 39.65 by -105.01. No structures threatened, but wind shift possible. Monitor and advise.”
Reese stiffened. “Copy that. I’ll check visibility from the ridge.”
“Be safe out there. Winds are twitchy today.”
Reese lowered the radio. The moment was gone.
Sky stepped back, slipping their camera into the bag. “Duty calls?”
Reese nodded, already scanning the horizon. “Let’s head back.”
---
The hike back was faster, more tense. Reese kept glancing west, jaw set, eyes narrowed. Sky followed in silence, sensing the shift.
By the time they reached the tower, Reese climbed the steps two at a time, binoculars already in hand.
Sky watched her move—focused, efficient, commanding. They’d seen her guarded, seen her guarded and irritated. But this was something new.
This was Reese in her element.
And it was hot.
Inside, Reese adjusted the binoculars and scanned the skyline. A faint plume of smoke curled on the horizon.
She grabbed the radio again. “Tower One. I have visual. West quadrant fire confirmed, small, moving uphill, low spread rate. Wind holding.”
“Roger that. Stay alert. Evac not required at this time.”
Reese exhaled slowly, but her body didn’t relax. Not yet.
Sky stepped inside. “You okay?”
Reese nodded. “This is normal. Fire this size burns fast, burns out.”
“You sure?”
“I’ve seen worse.”
Sky hesitated. “You’ve been close, haven’t you? To the edge.”
Reese turned, met their eyes.
“Yes.”
The word hung there, heavier than smoke.
Sky took a step closer. “And yet here you are. Still standing.”
“Barely.”
“That still counts.”
Reese looked at them—really looked—and something in her cracked. Just a little.
Maybe it was the way Sky looked at her like she was both flint and flame.
Maybe it was the silence that didn’t judge.
Or maybe it was just that she was tired of pretending not to feel.
Sky reached out and touched her hand.
Reese didn’t pull away.
“You make it real easy to fall for you,” Sky whispered.
Reese’s breath caught. “Don’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I can’t do this again. Not with someone who sees right through me.”
Sky’s voice was soft. “Then stop hiding.”
Their fingers laced with hers, gentle but firm. The contact sent heat racing up her arm.
“You’re fire, Reese,” they said. “But I’m not scared of burning.”
And Reese, for the first time in a long time, let the match strike.
---
- Writer
