Burn Season
Season 1, Ep. 3: The Spark
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I chose the Fremont Hooters because it’s the only building in Seattle with zero pretensions about what it is: a fluorescent cathedral of trauma-bonded men and the women who tolerate them for tips. It’s the gateway drug to strip joints.
The sign flickers on one of the O’s in the owl’s eyes, like it’s in on the joke … and I’m the punchline.
I’m early.
Because Brooke texted as if I’d already gone. I read the text again:
I know it’s not easy, dad. I’m proud of you. You’ve got this! (Please tell me you went).
The parentheses do the heavy lifting.
I don’t blame her. I wouldn’t believe me either. But her little passive-aggressive texts have been my North Star the last few months.
I sit at the bar, the only place with space that helps me avoid eye contact. The Thunder game’s on every screen. They’re down by nine. I still call them the Sonics. I can’t get over it. They were ours. Then they weren’t. Just like a lot of things in life I guess.
A shadow drops into the stool beside me. The smell of coconut and cigarettes hits all at once.
I look before I can stop myself.
Blondes always get past the filter. She removes her hoodie. PINK stretches across the back in big letters saying way more than the single word.
Her uniform’s still on underneath.
She sets her elbow on the bar. That’s when I catch it—just out of the corner of my eye.
A skinny little Space Needle, inked along her arm. But the lines are off.
It takes me a second.
It’s shaped like a syringe, with red hearts dripping out of it.
She’s got my attention now. Not that I’m letting her see it.
“Looks like you’re losing,” she says, nodding at the screen.
I grunt. No follow-up.
She doesn’t take the hint.
“You from here?”
I nod.
“Me too,” she lies. I can hear it. But I let it go.
She doesn’t wait. “Ava.”
I reluctantly say my name.
She nods at my overcooked steak. “You come here often, cowboy?”
I feel the eye-roll. Don’t show it.
“Just hungry.”
She laughs. “Fair enough.”
She puts her hand near her mouth and leans in like she’s telling a secret.
“I usually just steal the leftover nachos after the shift ends, but I guess tonight I’ll do it classy like my new friend.”
She taps the menu, signals the bartender. “George. A club sandwich. Extra fries. And a Coke—heavy on the Coke.”
She looks at me sheepishly like it’s our own inside joke.
Then she drops her voice. “Two meetings and I already miss the burn.”
I look at her. First time I’ve really looked. She’s got eyes like she’s been to war, and tits like a ceasefire.
“I’m here for the meeting too,” I mutter.
She leans in. “So we’re teammates.”
…
“You know you’re sitting at the bar before an AA meeting, right?”
“So are you … but it’s not about that for me.”
A little flash of interest crosses her face. “Oh. One of those cowboys. Trauma, not tequila.”
I don’t answer. That is the answer.
“Well,” she says, pulling the hood off. “Guess we stick together. At least until someone braver joins the cult.”
A body lumbers up to the bar behind her.
“You’re shitting me,” the voice slurs.
A hand claps my shoulder, heavy and dumb.
“Trusov. What the hell, man?”
It’s Hannon. Station Eight.
His breath was all booze and bad blood.
“I didn’t know you swung by here.” His tone shifts. “I heard what happened. Fucking sucks. That’s the shitty thing about our job, a bad day at work means the worst day of someone else’s life.”
“Hey Hannon,” I mutter, trying to play it cool. He’s already too close.
“I’m just headed out.”
He ignores me, eyes on Ava. “Look at you—firefighter with a fucking smokeshow. Poetic.”
He winks at Ava.
She tenses. I see it in her shoulders.
“Hannon, knock it off.”
He grins. “Guy lets a kid roast alive, disappears for two weeks, then shows up here of all places, hitting on the help? Real classy, Trusov.”
I see red. That face. That smirk.
I shove him hard. Harder than I meant.
He stumbles into a barstool and knocks over a water glass.
Silence.
“Jesus, Aiden,” Ava mutters, grabbing my arm.
Hannon snorts, looking down at his wet shirt.
“And they say chivalry’s dead. Didn’t peg you for the damsel type, bro.” He nods toward Ava. “Guess I was wrong.”
Ava stares him down.
Then, without a word, she lifts her shirt—just enough.
“In your dreams, asshole.”
That shuts him up.
He blinks and laughs—thin, nervous.
Then turns and walks off, still mouthing something no one hears.
We move fast. Not running—but not slow either.
As we head to the back hallway, I pass the bulletin board. There are flyers for comedy nights, missing cats, paintball tournaments.
But one jumps out:
FIRE WATCHERS NEEDED — May through October. Room, board, quiet. Must be comfortable alone.
I pause. Long enough to read and fast enough to ignore.
Inside, the meeting room’s half full. There are folding chairs set up in a circle.
No cross. No altar. Just a water-damaged ceiling and a bad coffee smell.
The leader—a round woman with a warm voice—smiles and waves. “We will be starting in two minutes. Please help yourself to some appetizers and coffee and then come find a seat.”
We sit. Ava next to me.
Across from us, a woman in scrubs—badge flipped, eyes down.
Next to her, a teenager with bandaged wrists and a stare that doesn’t land anywhere.
One seat over, a man with end-stage whiskey face, sweating through a Hawaiian shirt.
I fold my hands like it’ll make me smaller.
But it feels like I’m taking up the whole damn room.
The fire watch flyer hangs on the board, just in the corner of my eye—like a wanted poster for my peace. In a flash of panic, I picture grabbing Phoenix, disappearing into the mountains, letting the world burn behind me.
‘Welcome, everyone. Let’s begin,’ the woman says.
When the broken find each other, they reflect the choices they’ve yet to make—
but this one’s already made for me.
The room tightens around me as she greets the newcomer, and I realize I’m still here, and she’s looking right at me.
Next episode: Firewatch
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Step Into the Fire: Burn Season’s Immersive Storyworld on X
While Burn Season unfolds one episode at a time, the story doesn’t stop between updates.
Follow the characters in real time on X.com as they post their thoughts, fears, and fragments of the truth they’re barely holding onto.
Each character has their own X account—so you’re not just reading their story.
You’re living alongside them.
The first account is now live: @firelinevigil – Aiden Trusov, the former firefighter turned firewatcher, spiraling into isolation and paranoia deep in the Washington wilderness.
Through Aiden’s posts, you’ll get:
Unfiltered glimpses into his unraveling thoughts
Strange dispatches from the tower
Clues hidden in plain sight
Raw emotional tension as the fire season creeps closer
More character accounts will unlock as new episodes drop.
Follow them to catch hidden details, backstory reveals, and eerie connections that never show up in the main text.