I want to tell her not to worry about me, that the only thing that matters is that she's safe, but the words stick in my throat. Instead, I stand awkwardly as Nathan applies burn cream to the side of my neck, my eyes never leaving Michelle. She watches me too, something unreadable in her expression.
Paul paces at the edge of the room, his movements tight and controlled. The chief's mask is firmly in place, but I can see the brother underneath—terrified, and relieved. He stops suddenly, turning to face the room.
"I need to finish the incident report," he says stiffly. "Nathan, keep monitoring her. Logan, get her something to eat. Rivers—" He pauses, and I brace myself. "Get cleaned up. You look like hell."
I nod, understanding the dismissal for what it is. As Paul leaves, the tension in the room eases slightly, though I remain hyperaware of every move Michelle makes, every slight shift in her breathing.
Nathan applies a bandage to my neck with efficiency. "You're lucky it's just a first-degree burn. Should heal in a few days."
I barely hear him. Michelle is trying to stand, pushing aside Bradley's concerned hand.
"I'm okay," she insists. "Just stiff from sitting."
She takes a few steps, then sways slightly. I'm across the room before I realize I've moved, my hand catching her elbow to steady her. The contact sends a jolt through me, even through the layers of her sweater and my uniform shirt. Her skin is warm, alive, real beneath my fingers.
"Sorry," she murmurs, but doesn't pull away. "Just got a little light-headed."
"You should sit back down," I say, my voice low and rough.
She shakes her head, her eyes never leaving mine. "Actually, I was hoping we could talk. Somewhere... quieter."
My heart stutters in my chest. Behind her, I see Logan and Bradley exchange glances, but neither says anything. Nathan busies himself with repacking the first aid kit, deliberately not looking our way.
"Sure," I manage. "The common room should be empty."
I guide her down the hallway, acutely aware of my hand still at her elbow, of the slight lean of her body toward mine. The common room is mercifully deserted, the lights dimmed, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator in the corner.
I step back once we're inside, giving her space, though everything in me aches to do the opposite.
Michelle turns to face me, the blanket still draped around her shoulders. In the softer light, I can see the smudges of soot still on her cheeks, the redness around her eyes from the smoke.
"I used to hide in here during thunderstorms," Michelle says suddenly, her voice soft in the quiet. "When I was little and Paul was on shift. The chief back then, he'd let me sleep on this couch if the lightning got too bad." She runs her hand along the worn fabric. "I was terrified of storms."
"I didn't know that," I say, surprised by this glimpse into her past.
"This place has always felt safe to me." Her eyes meet mine in the low light. "Like being surrounded by guardians."
I smile slightly. "Your brother would love that metaphor."
"He takes the guardian role very seriously." She hesitates. "Maybe too seriously sometimes."
My fingers tap restlessly against my knee. "He's always trying to protect everyone. It's who he is."
"What about you?" she asks, tilting her head. "What's your story, Austin? Paul never really talks about your background."
The question catches me off-guard. People usually don't ask. I consider deflecting with humor, my usual shield, but something in her eyes stops me.
"I was a foster kid," I say quietly. "Seven homes between eight and eighteen. None of them stuck."
Her expression softens. "I'm sorry."
I shrug, aiming for casualness I don't feel. "It’s all good now."
"Is that why you became a firefighter? To help people?"
"Partly." I look down at my hands. "When I was ten, there was a fire in one of my foster homes. Nothing major, just a kitchen fire, everyone got out. But I remember this firefighter who checked on me afterward. He sat with me on the front steps, let me try on his helmet. Made me feel...seen. Like I mattered." I glance up, feeling strangely vulnerable. "I never forgot that."
"And now you're that person for someone else," she says softly.
