But Jake couldn't let go.
Not yet.
Not until?—
Hannah's eyes fluttered. Just for a second. Just long enough for him to see that flash of brown that had become his whole world.
"Jake?" His name was barely a breath on her lips.
He dropped to his knees, still cradling her. "I'm here." His voice cracked. "I've got you."
Her fingers curled weakly in his turnout coat. The recipe box was still clutched against her chest with her other hand.
"Knew you'd come," she whispered. Then her eyes slipped closed again.
Jake pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in through the smoke and ash. "Always," he promised, even though she couldn't hear him anymore. "I'll always come for you."
The paramedics were there then, professional and efficient, lifting Hannah onto the gurney. This time, Jake let them take her. His body screamed in protest as he tried to stand—burns and bruises making themselves known now that the adrenaline was fading.
But none of that mattered.
Because Hannah was breathing.
Because she was alive.
Because she'd known he would come.
CHAPTER 31
Hannah
Pain came first.
Hannah's throat felt like she'd swallowed glass, each breath scraping raw against her lungs. The steady beep of monitors filtered through the fog, along with the sharp scent of antiseptic that meant hospital.
She was alive.
The realization hit slower than it should have, weighted by memories of flames and smoke and certainty that she was going to die in her grandmother's kitchen.
But she hadn't died.
Because Jake had come for her.
The thought brought awareness rushing back. Hannah's eyes fluttered open. Jake sat slumped in a chair beside her bed, still in his soot-streaked uniform. Bandages wrapped his right hand and disappeared under his sleeve. His dark hair was a mess, his jaw shadowed with stubble, exhaustion carved deep in the lines of his face.
But he was here.
He hadn't left.
As if sensing her gaze, Jake's eyes opened. For a moment, they just stared at each other in the quiet darkness. Then his hand reached for hers, hesitating just before touching.
"Hannah." Her name was barely a whisper, like he was afraid speaking too loud might shatter whatever fragile thing hung between them.
She tried to answer, but her throat seized. Immediately, Jake was there with a cup of water, his bandaged hand gentle as he helped her take small sips.
"Easy," he murmured. "Small breaths."
The water was cool against her raw throat. When she could speak, her voice came out rough, unfamiliar. "How long?"
