We make it out moments later, cold air slamming into us like a wall. The noise returns all at once—sirens, shouting, radios crackling—as medics rush forward.
I hand her off gently, watching as they fit the oxygen mask over her face. She reaches for my glove, fingers curling tight.
“Thank you,” she says solemnly.
“You’re welcome,” I reply. “You were really brave.”
Her chest puffs up with pride.
I straighten just as movement at the edge of the crowd catches my attention. A woman breaks free from the line of neighbors, running hard despite the snow, her coat half buttoned, hair pulled back hastily.
I know it’s Abby before my brain has time to catch up.
She drops to her knees in front of the stretcher, arms wrapping around the little girl like she might disappear if she lets go. Her voice breaks as she says her name, over and over, relief and terror tangling together in a way I recognize far too well.
Daisy.
The little girl’s name is Daisy.
Daisy lifts her head, eyes bright even behind the mask. “Mom, this is the man who saved me.”
Abby looks up.
Our eyes lock, and the world tilts.
She looks wrecked and fierce and achingly familiar, her fear still raw and open. For a second, she looks exactly like she did the last time I saw her crying—like she’s holding herself together by sheer will alone.
“He’s a hero,” Daisy continues proudly.
Abby’s throat works. “Thank you,” she says, voice shaking. “Thank you.”
I nod, words failing me for once. “She did great.”
Her hand tightens on Daisy’s blanket, knuckles white.
I step back, giving them space I don’t really want to give, and peel off my helmet. The cold bites at my skin, sweat cooling too fast beneath my gear.
Aaron claps my shoulder. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.”
The fire is contained quickly after that. There’s heavy smoke damage, but with luck it won’t be a full loss. Another close call. Another what-if filed away where it can haunt me later.
I find Abby again near the ambulance, Daisy wrapped up and chattering happily now, as if the whole thing has already become a story instead of a trauma.
“Hey,” I say softly.
Abby looks up, surprise flickering across her face before settling into something cautious. “Hey.”
“She says you answered all her questions,” Abby says, glancing at Daisy.
“I was glad to,” I reply.
Daisy grins. “He knows everything.”
Abby almost smiles.
Almost.
