I had locked myself in with my thoughts.

The cell doors around me popped open and the cacophony of shotgun-like bangs lit the hallway with sound.  The noise meant my fellow firehouse girls were home from work. I heard them stomping down the hall, our boots a trademark of the FireCamp program. They were wearing the fire-resistant monstrosities inside the unit because Mr. Ham was here, a substitute officer. If our regular was in, they’d have taken them off at the door.

When they were halfway down the hallway, my door popped open and I shook my head. Mr. Ham didn’t meddle like other officers, and there was a running joke about how little he liked me, but he had obviously decided I needed to talk to someone. So, just this one time, with just one button, he meddled.

Steph was already talking to me.

In a daze, I made…