At the firehouse.
In the dark.
During a storm.
With Lucy Snow.
She steps into the main bay, hugging her jacket tighter, looking around like she’s never been somewhere this empty. Usually the place is buzzing—sirens, alarms, chatter, boots clanging, radios crackling.
Tonight it’s quiet.
Too quiet.
She turns toward me, headlamp off now, hair falling loose around her shoulders from where she pushed her hood back.Snowflakes cling to the ends, catching the overhead lights like tiny stars.
And my brain just… stops.
“Okay,” she says softly. “Where am I sleeping?”
A muscle jumps in my jaw.
I should’ve prepared for this. I should’ve set boundaries. Thought logically. Remembered who I am and what I’m responsible for.
Instead I say, “My room.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Your room?”
“It’s the warmest,” I mutter, heading toward the stairs before I can change my mind. “Best mattress. Heated vent works faster in there.”
“You programmed your HVAC for your bedroom?” she asks, following behind me.
“It’s not quite a bedroom,” I growl. “It’s a single bed.”
“A fancy bed?”
“I didn’t say fancy.”
“You implied fancy.”
I turn sharply enough she nearly collides with me. “Lucy.”
She blinks up at me, innocent as a cat that just stole something off the counter.
“Yeah?”
“Don’t start.”
“Start what?”
“Anything.”
She smiles—sweet, dangerous, made of trouble. “I’m not doing anything.”
“You exist,” I say. “That’s more than enough.”
Her breath hitches. She tries to hide it.
Fails.
