Chapter 20 Aiden
AIDEN
Internal Affairs rooms are designed to make people feel small.
No windows. Neutral walls. A table just wide enough to remind you where you’re supposed to sit, like a grade school desk. I’ve been in enough of them over the years to recognize the intent immediately. This isn’t about yelling or intimidation.
It’s about pressure. About making the weight of the procedure feel heavier than the weight of conscience. As if a room can make guilt larger.
As if I have anything to feel guilty for.
I sit with my hands folded in front of me and wait.
There’s a paper cup of water on the table.
If this were a criminal investigation, I wouldn’t drink it.
Leaving a cup available encourages people to drink it.
Which means picking up the cup, giving police your fingerprints, if they don’t have them on file already.
This isn’t a criminal investigation. I drink.
A clock spins on the wall, whining at a tone that cuts through the silence. The chair is wood, no cushion. Even the table is shorter than it should be. Little things to irritate without pointing themselves out. It’s a smart play, I suppose.
Won’t change my answers.
Two investigators enter a moment later, files tucked under their arms, expressions carefully unreadable.
Grant’s coworkers. He won’t be involved in this since we know each other.
They introduce themselves-Broadstone and Kabougeris.
Kabougeris flips open a folder and starts listing the violations without preamble.
Unauthorized access to evidence. Independent review of surveillance footage. Interference with an active arson investigation. Failure to maintain professional distance from a civilian involved in the case.
I don’t interrupt. I don’t argue. I let them finish.
Then, we sit silently. They’re waiting for me to fill the silence. They’re gonna wait a long time.
Finally, Broadstone cracks. “You’re a firefighter, Captain Sloan, not a detective. Not an investigator. What you did was outside the scope of your authority.”
I lift a shoulder. “I’m sure seems true.”
“You understand that these actions could warrant suspension,” Kabougeris continues. “Possibly demotion.”
“I understand,” I say again.
They study me for a moment, clearly expecting more. An excuse. A justification. Something that sounds like regret.
Broadstreet asks, “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I’d do it again.”
The silence that follows is thick.
Kabougeris’s eyes go wide. “You’re serious.”
“I didn’t interfere to feel important,” I continue calmly. “I did it because there was a pattern everyone else hadn’t connected yet. Because a man had already committed arson once and was escalating and the investigation was moving too slowly. People were in danger.”
Broadstreet snaps, “That doesn’t give you the right—”
“I know what my rights are.” I will stay calm, no matter what they come at me with, because I know I did the right thing. “And I know what my responsibilities are. I chose the latter. Any real firefighter would do the same.”
The room tightens perceptibly. They exchange a glance, the unspoken conversation obvious. This is the part where they decide whether I’m reckless or principled. Whether I’m a liability or an asset.
I know exactly what I am. They aren’t the people who get to decide that for me. The only thing they get to decide is whether I keep my job. Over the years, I’ve found that most people in authority have decided what they’re going to do to you before you ever step foot into a room with them.
What I’ve said probably doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.
“What if you’d been wrong?” Kabougeris asks.
“I wasn’t,” I reply. “But if I had been, I would have owned that, too. Like I said before, I don’t shy away from my responsibilities.”
There’s a pause while they jot notes.
I think about Harper blaming herself for choices I made without hesitation. I think about Mason sleeping somewhere safe because I didn’t wait for protocol to catch up with reality.
If saving them costs me something, so be it. “I’m not apologizing for protecting people,” I add quietly. “Especially not when it worked.”
“You don’t need to be so smug about that part,” Broadstreet says.
Ah. I stepped on his toes. That’s probably the real reason I’m here. “I would have been happy to let someone else handle things, if they were being handled correctly.”
They don’t respond immediately. Kabougeris tries to hide his smirk and closes, the file. Broadstreet says, “Wait here.” When the door shuts behind them, I lean back in my chair and exhale slowly.
They bring my crew in one by one. Theo. Lizzie. Garrett. Benny, nervous and earnest even when he’s not under scrutiny himself. Each time I hear one of them speak, something tight in my chest loosens just a fraction.
Theo is blunt, as always. He talks about the night of the second fire, how fast things were moving, and how important it was that someone connected the dots before Marcus had time to do more harm.
He says I didn’t grandstand. I didn’t go rogue for ego.
I did what I always do—looked at the problem, assessed the risk, and acted.
Lizzie follows him and is less restrained.
She talks about my judgment under pressure, about how I’ve pulled people out of bad situations without waiting for someone else to give permission.
She says if Internal Affairs wants to punish someone for caring too much, they’re going to have a long line to deal with.
Garrett, of all people, surprises me the most.
He doesn’t joke. He doesn’t posture. He tells them flat out that if I hadn’t pushed when I did, they’d be having a very different conversation right now.
He says Marcus wasn’t just angry—he was fixated—and that anyone who’s been on the job long enough knows what that looks like.
He finishes by saying he’d follow me into any fire, with or without protocol on the line.
I stare at the table while he talks, jaw tight. It’s strange to hear him being so serious. So loyal. No matter what happens, his next round is on me.
When Chief Morales walks in, the temperature in the room changes immediately.
He doesn’t sit right away. He stands with his hands braced on the back of the chair across from me.
He’s been doing this longer than all of us combined, and everyone in the room knows it.
His words carry weight. “Sloan is one of the best firefighters I’ve ever worked with,” he says without preamble.
“That’s not sentiment. That’s experience.
You boys need to get your head out of your asses. ”
Broadstreet opens mouth, but Morales lifts a hand to shut him up.
“Yes,” he continues. “He broke protocol. I won’t pretend otherwise.
But he also helped identify a dangerous arsonist who was planning worse.
Chen came after us in my own station. That nutjob was identified by Captain Sloan before anyone else knew who it was.
During the fires, he coordinated effectively on scene, he didn’t compromise the operation, and he didn’t put his crew at risk. ”
“But he illegally—”
“If he had done anything illegal, we’d be having this conversation at the police station, and you know it,” Morales cuts in, glaring at them. “Captain Sloan saved lives. He did his job and yours. He should be getting double pay, not raking over the coals.”
The room goes quiet.
Morales finally takes a seat and folds his hands.
“You want to talk about boundaries and procedure? Fine. We’ll do that.
But don’t go getting your panties in a twist every time a firefighter does the work of two or three people.
We do that every damn day. If you punish initiative every time it saves lives, you’ll teach people to hesitate.
You will get more dead bodies that way, and you’re both smart enough to know it. ”
I keep my expression neutral, but inside, something steadies.
This isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about what kind of department we are. Whether we value judgment or blind adherence, Morales knows that. He’s staking his reputation on it just as much as I am.
After he finishes, the investigators ask a few more questions. Clarifying. Probing. Trying to find the line where my intention crosses into recklessness.
They don’t find it.
When they finally dismiss everyone again and ask me to wait, I sit alone in the room and think about Mason asking if the bad man was going to hurt them.
Not on my watch.
Every time I have a moment to think, I think of them. How I did this for them, how I want to do everything for them. Harper and Mason are mine to protect. The IA investigation is barely a hiccup in my life compared to them.
I’ve been through reviews before. Minor ones. Paperwork errors. Judgment calls questioned and ultimately upheld. This feels different. This feels heavier, not because I think I’m wrong, but because I know exactly how much I’m willing to lose over it.
No regrets whatsoever. I couldn’t pretend to regret it if I tried.
The door opens again, and Kabougeris gestures for me to step out. The hallway is narrow and fluorescent-lit, the kind of institutional space that strips everything down to essentials.
Harper is sitting on a hard plastic chair against the wall, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
What the hell is she doing here?
The moment she sees me, she’s on her feet, relief flashing across her face so fast it hurts to watch. Her eyes search mine immediately, looking for signs of damage.
I give her a small shake of my head.
Kabougeris utters, “You can wait here. Deliberation shouldn’t take too long.” He saunters into the office at the end of the hall.
She nods, biting her lip, clearly fighting the urge to ask questions right there.
I admire her restraint. I have none. “What are you doing here? Where’s Mason?”
“Carlie again.” Her shoulders sag just a fraction. “This is my fault, so I wasn’t about to stay home.”