7. Ava - The Fire Inside Me
AVA - THE FIRE INSIDE ME
I hated hospitals; the lights were too bright.
Not the kind that hurts your eyes. The kind that made blood look more vivid, skin appear more pale, and pain seem more real.
I sat on the curb just outside the ambulance bay, my cardigan long gone, my hands still stained red. The medic had tried to clean them. I let her. But blood doesn’t come off that easily, not when it’s soaked in memory.
Ms. Cross was inside. Stable. Barely. I needed a minute after we arrived, I needed to calm the firestorm brewing within me before I could walk into that hospital and do what I needed to do... before I faced Sofia's aunt and told her we had failed.
I hadn’t cried.
Not when I called it in. Not when I found Sofia. Not when I looked into the vacant, dead eyes of a woman who trusted me.
The only thing keeping me grounded was the slow, steady weight of another hand curled around mine.
Remi.
She’d been waiting outside when I stumbled out of the house. The second she saw me, she didn’t ask anything. Just pulled me into a hug that cracked my heart wide open. I didn’t hug back, not really, but I didn’t let go, either.
And now she sat beside me on the curb, silent, watching me with that same mix of fear and fury I saw in the mirror every day.
The sirens had faded. Officers swarmed the scene. And yet somehow, none of it felt real.
What I kept hearing were the questions.
“What time did you arrive, Ms. Sinclair?” “Did you enter through the front or back?” “Can you confirm if the door was already ajar?” “Did you touch anything besides the victims?”
Victims.
As if she weren’t a person with dreams and grit and laughter. As if she hadn’t once cried in relief in my office because she thought maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready to live again.
I almost lost it right there.
The questions got colder. Sharper. Less about justice, more about justification. Why was I there? Why didn’t I call first? Why didn’t I wait for backup?
Because she was dying.
Because she was dead.
Because I did ask for help... for 'backup'.
Because I fucking knew something was wrong.
“Enough,” Remi had said sharply, stepping between me and the clipboard cop, voice low and cutting. “She’s answered enough.”
The medic interrupted next. “We need to get you looked at Ms. Sinclair, would you like to ride with Ms. Cross?”
I stood slowly. Looked the officer in the eye. My voice came out like steel wrapped in silk.
“You want more answers? Meet me at the hospital. But if you ask me one more time why I was there instead of you...”
The hospital hallway was cold and sterile.
I sat in a plastic chair outside Ms. Cross’s treatment room, still in the same pants and shirt, dried blood on the hem. Remi paced the hallway like a caged animal, stopping every few steps to look at me, then keep moving.
Footsteps echoed.
Jack.
He arrived like a storm barely contained, his usually perfect hair was a mess, sleeves rolled to his forearms, breathing hard like he’d sprinted every step between the precinct and here.
“Ava,” he said, crouching down in front of me.
I didn’t move.
He reached for my hand, then thought better of it. “Tell me what you need.”
I looked up at him. Saw the man who seemed to make Remi feel safe. The man who once believed in the law more than its flaws but now saw the truth.
“Do something about Dane,” I said, voice calm, even. “Or I will.”
A nurse appeared down the hallway. "Ms. Sinclair? She's awake. You can come in now."
I stood; legs unsteady but moving. Jack and Remi stayed behind as I pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Ms. Cross lay in the bed, an IV in her arm, gauze at her temple, eyes fluttering until they locked onto mine.
We didn’t speak right away. We didn’t need to.
She saw it in my eyes. I saw it in hers.
Recognition. Sorrow. Understanding.
We were both drowning in reality.
And then the sob broke loose from her chest, and I was at her side, gripping her hand tight, holding on like she was the only thing tethering me to the earth.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I’m so...”
She shook her head, her fingers squeezing mine back. “Thank you,” she rasped, voice raw. “For everything you did.”
“I failed,” I croaked. “She’s gone.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head again. “You helped her. You helped her see the truth and understand her worth. That she deserved a bright future... and she did. The last conversation I had with Sofia was filled with so much hope. She started dreaming again.”
I pressed my lips together, blinking hard.
The fire inside me didn’t go out.
It burned hotter.