When the gang leader began talking again, Carol quickly adopted her typing, in what felt a predictable rhythm. She faltered immediately when Brittany mentioned torching people. A heavy stone settled in her gut when she wondered if they were at least deceased before the immolation. Slowly she lowered the handheld to the scarred table, as serious a youthful pout as she could muster coming together, eyeing the celestial on the other side with an unerring certainty.

“Brittany, you want me to be your saleswoman, I will. You think you can settle for me as a bed warmer, you can try. But it sounds like the Burnt aren't just some convenient organisation you joined for better benefits. Your connection to flame is more than mere policy. 'Get what you want, toss away the trash' – that's barely the beginning, isn't it? This is an actual way of life to you. A genuine love between you and fire. Almost a religious experience.” She leaned forward. “I want in. What would get me one of those better jobs?”