“Evan had to leave about an hour ago,” she explains to me, switching back to English. “He seemed to be quite upset about something, actually.”
I freeze. “Upset?”
“He got a call, I think. Something about a meeting? Or a vote? He says the city council is up to something. That’s all he said, but he told me he wanted to let you sleep.”
I grab for my purse, marveling for only a handful of seconds over the fact that I managed not to lose it in the chaos of last night, and retrieve my phone.
Sure enough, I have an SOS message from Lou.
WAKE UP!!! BANKS CALLED AN EMERGENCY VOTE ON THE FUNDING!
I also have three missed calls from her, and it’s barely seven-thirty.
“Shoot,” I whisper. “I have to go.”
“You should have some cereal first,” Leo suggests sweetly.
Trying to keep my cool for his sake, I offer him a smile and pat the top of his head. “Thank you, sweetheart, but duty calls.”
With an apologetic smile for Rosa, I hurry toward the door.
The last thing I hear is Leo’s exasperated sigh and an adorably muttered, “Rosa, how come grown-upsnevereat breakfast?”
Chapter twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-Three: Noah
The atmosphere in the station feels like a collective hangover.
Not from alcohol, obviously, but from exhaustion, smoke inhalation, and the kind of adrenaline rush that leaves your body feeling wrung out like a damp rag.
We’ve been through worse, but last night was no small emergency. Three casualties and the partial destruction of a historic building means that it’s been skyrocketed to national news. By the time the morning commute rush ends, millions of people will know what happened last night.
I’m fine now. A few pumps from my inhaler and a blue Gatorade have restored me enough that I was able to help out at the scene for another hour or so before it was determined that Station 47, among many other backup crews, could head back to their respective headquarters.
I ended up collapsing on Old Bill’s usual armchair, intending to only grab a quick power nap, but I crashed for about two hours before Sandy jostled me awake. She said I needed to get some food in me, so I scarfed down the breakfast burrito she handed over, and then immediately fell asleep for another half-hour.
I might have slept longer, but it was around that time—approximately three in the morning—that our captain came limping back into the station.
I’m used to seeing scary shit at this point, but watching him take the bulk of the hit when that interior wall was blasted apart by the explosion turned my blood to pure ice. He’d been trying to clear a path for that civilian to get out, but then he went down and she started screaming.
I still don’t know how I managed to get both of them out. It’s all a blur. Something inhuman overcame me. Pure instinct.
Yet, no matter how fast I jumped into action, Hale still had to be carted off to the hospital.
Not for long, apparently. When he arrived back at the station, he growled about a bruised rib and some muscle soreness, then waved off Rita’s insistence that she check him for signs of a concussion for what might have been the fifth or sixth time.
And so, despite the insanity, we went on with our shifts as normal. Mostly. Everyone is moving slower than usual, and Matt burned the coffee that he typically brews to perfection in the kitchen. The regular chatter is muted. Hale doesn’t even botherbarking at anyone who has to pause and doze for a minute here and there.
I spend most of the earlier morning hours praying the city remains calm enough that we won’t get called out again. If we can just make it to midmorning, a fresh wave of staff will arrive, and those of us who are worn out can leave to rest up.
Unfortunately, doom descends long before midmorning.
The captain calls me to his office around seven.
Evan is already there, still wearing his rumpled EMT uniform. He looks a little flushed in the cheeks and more glowy in the eyes than usual, but he’s also jostling his leg nervously where he sits opposite Hale’s desk.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when both of them look up at my arrival.
