The warehouse was nothing but a skeleton now.
The fire had finally died, leaving behind a blackened frame and a sky choked with smoke. Dawn crept in slow and gray, bleeding weak light over the ash-covered ground. The air still smelled like burned wood, melted plastic, and something heavier — the weight of exhaustion after everything had burned.
The trucks sat idling, their engines a low, steady hum against the quiet. Water still dripped from the hoses, pooling on the pavement in dark streaks. Firefighters moved through the remains like ghosts, helmets tilted low, voices muted. They’d fought hard tonight. They’d contained the blaze. No casualties. A win on paper. But wins like this never felt clean.
She leaned against the back of the engine, helmet on the ground, gloves shoved into her b
