Page 82 of Igniting Her

Cassie’s throat closed.

Ellie waited for an answer.

Silence was the one honest thing Cassie had left. She did not disguise it as thought, command, or restraint. She stood beneath the weight of Ellie’s gaze and let the absence remain what it was: fear without language.

Ellie nodded slowly.

“All right.”

The acceptance frightened Cassie more than anger would have.

Ellie unfolded the paper in her hand. Creases divided it into thirds. She smoothed it against her palm and held it out.

Cassie did not take it.

“What is that?”

“A request to release my records for lateral transfer out of Santa Vera.” Ellie’s voice wavered once and steadied. “It’s signed.”

Cassie’s eyes found the blank line beside Ellie’s name.

“It isn’t dated.”

“I couldn’t do it.” Ellie gave a small, painful shrug. “Turns out leaving is harder when nobody is making me.”

The paper remained between them.

“I won’t stay here and spend every turnover proving to you that I’m still alive,” she said. “I won’t keep asking a woman who loves me to decide whether that love is real enough to survive daylight. And I am not going to argue myself into being wanted. I have done that in too many rooms already.”

Cassie took the letter.

The page weighed nothing. Her hand lowered beneath it anyway.

Taking it felt too much like accepting the departure. Refusing it would have been another way to make Ellie hold the decision for both of them. Cassie kept the paper.

“The decision cannot be reduced to this,” she said.

“It already has been.” Ellie looked at the blank date. “If the safest life you can imagine is one where I’m gone, submit it to Chief Marsh. I won’t fight you. I won’t come back and ask what you meant.”

“Ellie—” The first name did not stop her this time.

“Or come find me.” The request emptied Cassie’s next breath.

Ellie’s face was wet now. She did not wipe it. “Submit it or come find me.”

Then she walked around Cassie, opened the parking-lot door, and left.

The latch settled into place.

Cassie remained in the center of the empty bay with the transfer request in her hand.

Morning traffic moved beyond the closed doors. Somewhere downhill, Engine 12 transmitted arrival at the marina. The relief captain gave a size-up, and dispatch acknowledged. The station radio carried every voice except the one Cassie wanted.

She looked at the letter.

Ellie’s signature ran across the bottom, alive in its haste. The date line remained empty. Cassie had filled thousands of blank lines. Dates, times, assignments, dispositions. A blank in an official document was a problem to correct.

Her fingers could not reach for a pen.