The reception was a subdued affair, firefighters sharing stories and memories over coffee and sandwiches that no one seemed to have much appetite for. I moved through the crowd like a ghost, accepting condolences with practiced grace while feeling nothing. My crew hovered nearby, protective and worried, but I kept them at arm's length, too. This new wall I'd built didn't discriminate. It kepteveryoneout.
I needed air. Space. Something other than the weight of sympathetic eyes and careful voices offering comfort I couldn't accept. The crowd was suffocating in its kindness, every well-meaning touchand whispered condolence pressing against the wall I'd built until I thought it might crack.
Cap's office door was open, the light off. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, grateful for the sudden quiet. His coffee mug still sat on the desk — a chipped ceramic piece that read "World's Okayest Captain," a gag gift from last year's Christmas party. His reading glasses were folded beside a stack of reports he'd never finish. The little wooden sign that had hung behind his desk for as long as I'd known him — "Can't outrank dirty dishes" — seemed to mock the pristine order of a space that would never be lived in again.
I picked up his pen, the cheap Bic he'd used for everything from incident reports to birthday cards. My fingers closed around it, and for a moment I felt something crack in my chest, something that threatened to spill out and drown me.
A soft knock on the door made me straighten, schooling my features back into careful neutrality.
"L.T.?" Thompson's voice was gentle, concerned. "You okay in there?"
I set the pen down carefully, precisely where I'd found it. "I'm fine."
"Mind if I come in?"
I opened the door to find Thompson standing there with Benny, both of them wearing the kind of careful expressions people used around unexploded ordnance.
"Just needed a quiet moment," I said.
"When's the last time you ate?" Benny asked, his voice carrying the gentle authority of someone who'd been looking after rookies for two decades.
"I'm not hungry."
"That's not what I asked." Thompson stepped closer, his eyes scanning my face with the kind of assessment that came from years of reading people under stress. "You've been taking care of everyone else all day. Cap wouldn't want you running yourself into the ground."
"Cap would want me to do my job."
"Your job isn't to carry this alone," Thompson said quietly. "We're your crew. Let us help."
I looked at these two men — good firefighters, loyal friends, the closest thing to family I had left — and felt the wall I'd built grow another layer of concrete. They meant well. They always meant well. But well-meaning had already destroyed everything else in my life.
"I'm fine," I repeated. "Just need to freshen up before I head home."
Thompson and Benny exchanged a look, some wordless communication passing between them. Finally, Thompson nodded.
"Alright, L.T. But if you need anything …"
"I know where to find you."
I walked past them toward the women's restroom, feeling their worried eyes on my back. The bathroom was mercifully empty, just me and the harsh fluorescent lights that made my dress uniform look washed out in the mirror. I turned on the cold water and splashed it on my face, letting the shock of it center me.
My reflection stared back — composed, controlled, every brass button in perfect alignment. Cap had always said you could tell everything you needed to know about a firefighter by how they maintained their dress uniform. Mine was flawless. Empty, but flawless.
I straightened my tie, checked that my mourning band was properly positioned, and rebuilt the professional mask that had carried me through the worst day of my life. Whatever came next, I would meet it with the same cold competence that had gotten me this far.
I walked out of the bathroom — which is when Santoro found me. He materialized at my elbow with the calculated timing of a predator, offering the kind of carefully practiced sympathy that made my skin crawl.
"Toughloss," he said, his voice pitched just loud enough for nearby firefighters to hear. "Cap was a good man. Old guard. But things are changing around here."
"Are they?" I replied, my voice perfectly neutral.
His smile was sharp, predatory. "Oh yes. BC Evans just posted the new Captain's list this morning. You know, I really should thank you."
Something cold settled in my stomach. "Should you?"
"The promotion. Station 12. I got it." His smile widened as he watched my face for a reaction. "Thanks for making it so easy."
Cold fury exploded into my chest, but I kept my expression perfectly controlled. Around us, conversations continued, oblivious to the destruction happening in their midst.
