Training said establish a perimeter.
Experience said the structure wasn't stable.
Jake didn't give a damn about any of it.
Because Hannah was in there.
Because he'd rather die than let her face this alone.
Because some choices weren't really choices at all.
He grabbed his breathing apparatus from the truck, muscle memory taking over as he secured it. The engines were arriving now, sirens wailing in the distance. He could hear Miller shouting orders, could see Peterson unrolling the hose lines.
But he didn't wait.
"Cooper!" Miller's voice carried over the roar of flames. "Don't you dare?—"
Jake plunged through the bakery's shattered window. The heat slammed into him like a wall, even through his turnout gear. Smoke rolled across the ceiling in thick waves, reducing visibility to almost nothing.
Where are you, sweetheart?
He moved deeper into the inferno, staying low, scanning through the smoke. The flames were spreading too fast, eating through the old wooden walls like they were paper.
Then he saw her.
Crumpled near the kitchen door, her grandmother's recipe box clutched to her chest. Not moving.
No.
Jake's heart stopped.
Restarted.
Shattered.
"Hannah!"
He crossed the space in three steps, gathering her into his arms. She was so still. Too still. But when his fingers found her pulse, it was there—weak and thready, but there.
Thank God.
Thank God.
Thank God.
Another cabinet crashed down, closer this time. The whole building shuddered.
They were out of time.
Jake cradled Hannah against his chest, shielding her from the flames with his body. He'd burn himself alive before he let the fire touch her again.
"Stay with me," he whispered against her hair as he turned toward the exit. "Please, Hannah. Stay with me."
Because he couldn't lose her.
Because she was everything.
Because some loves were worth walking through fire for.
