That was very unpleasant.

“Before we help you out of the rest of the foam, how are you feeling?”

Once I blink the brightness of the sun away, I can see Stillwater standing over me. “Just peachy, boss. Just another day in the Watch.”

She looks at me, unimpressed, and says, “Good work saving the girl.”

With a heave and a few people helping, I pull free of the last piece of foam. Ow. I am not too sure how much hair I have left. Head check, okay, missing a few chunks of hair. Might need to comb that over or shave the whole thing. Could be worse—I could be dead.

I see WayWocket standing there congratulating himself; he looks like he is preening for some kind of reward. “WayWocket, my friend, thank you so much for the help.” I play to the crowd that is gathering. “I am glad that those strategies were put in place for this situation.”

He looks aghast at the sudden attention from the crowd gathering around him. Take that, WayWocket!

“Please, please, I—I'm, um, don't—” Women are hugging him, and men are pounding his back. Finally, he yells out, “Stillwater! Gunnar!”

Gunnar moves forward, giving me a dirty look with his green eyes. “Clear the way! We need to let the fire brigade through. If you still wish to do the bucket line, the well is that way and best to get to it!” He lowers his voice. “WayWocket doesn’t like attention. That was foolish, gonna take hours to calm him down. I have no words. You have upset WayWocket!”

Stillwater steps in. “Okay, enough chit-chat. The brigade will take care of this now. First, off to the shrine to have you looked over. After that, we'll head back, and you can fill in the incident report about this whole situation. So form up and head out!”

Why is everyone pissed at me? I did something stupid, yes, but very brave. This lot is acting like I killed someone. I have no idea what their collective problem is. And now I am getting the silent treatment. So what, are we back in school? I mean, at least one thing about growing up in an orphanage is that mainly rejected half-breeds surround you. You cannot make fun of anyone because you all have the same background—dumped at the front door. Our non-Elven parents need to learn to keep it in their pants!

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

This mood is so grim. I cannot even find the street names funny anymore. Look, it is Shrine Road, ha! Not even this one—even if it comes off Petition Street, and I think it leads to Resolution Boulevard. But, once we are a bit away from the fire scene, I will ask what I did wrong. Bloody crazy people! Should I have let that child die?

We turn on to Petition Street. I ask, “Stillwater, what did I do wrong? I saved that girl, and all of you are treating me like a monster. I know it was a stupid thing to do, and it was the last thing I would usually have done, but I heard her crying, and that was it—I had to help.” Well, that is the half-truth. Bloody muscle memory! “Are you going to ignore me for the rest of the walk to the shrine, or is someone going to say something?”

Stillwater stops, looks at me, and replies, “You really have no idea what you have done? We keep under the radar. Everything we do is not to make waves. Yes, we solve cold cases, but who cares about those, except for the victims’ relatives—”

“What! If someone is in trouble, you look the other way? Just so no one will notice the Rejects? I think that name is not just because you are outcasts of the Watch, it is—”

Gunnar walks up and punches me in the gut, dropping me to the ground. Damn you. Once I can breathe, I am going to let you have it!

“Shut up. We aren't cowards! The Rejects are not here for glory. We serve the community, not ourselves.”

Great, you knock the wind out of me, and now you give me a lecture? It seems he is not finished.

“Yes, if someone is in trouble, we help, but the firemen were on their way. It is their job to control the situation; it is not ours. But there you went, half-cocked. At best, you could have killed yourself. At worst, you could have caused a backdraft that would have intensified the fire. It might even have spread to other buildings. Did you think about that? Do you even think at all? What is one child, compared to this whole quarter?”

I get to my feet and glare down into his eyes, and then I look at each one of the Rejects. “Not … for … the glory?” I try to catch my breath but cannot help my voice dropping an octave to a growl, “A child is not worth the risk? Yes, you are right. I could have caused the fire to spread. Yes, I could have died, or worse, caused others to die. But to think that saving a child is not worth the risk, you are worse than rejects—you are losers!”

I turn and stomp off. I can hear them calling out to me. That was one of the most stupid things I have done, but that child, Lana, was worth it. It was lousy growing up without parents, but I have seen parents after their child has died in an accident or from illness—I would wish that on no one!

Now the ground is coming closer ... I cannot seem to breathe.