I force myself to stand, to leave Rachel with the paramedics, to go back inside and do my job.
Fire’s localized to the kitchen. Someone already hit it with the hose line, so it’s mostly smoldering now. We spend the next hour checking for hot spots, pulling apart cabinets, making sure nothing’s going to reignite.
By the time we’re done, my gear is soaked with sweat and water. My shoulders ache. My lungs burn despite the mask.
But everyone got out. That’s what matters.
Cole and I don’t talk much on the drive back to Station 47.
We’re both too tired. Too wired from the adrenaline crash.
“She was there again,” he says finally.
“I know.”
“That’s not a coincidence anymore.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t say anything else until we pull into the station bay.
“We’re going to check on her. After shift.”
It’s not a question. “Yeah.”
We finish our post-call duties in silence: equipment check, gear cleaning, and incident report. Routine helps settle my nerves.
My shift ends at six. Cole’s does too. We freshen up and change into street clothes without discussing where we’re going next.
We both know.
***
Jake’s house is quiet when we pull up.
Rachel answers the door, looking exhausted. She’s showered, changed into clean clothes, but her eyes are red, and her voice is rough when she speaks.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” Cole says. “Can we come in?”
“Yeah.” She steps back. “Jake’s in the living room with Tommy.”
Jake’s on the couch. Tommy’s reading his dragon book, oblivious to everything.
“How’s Dorothy?” I ask.
“Staying with her niece across town for a few days,” Rachel says. “Until her house is cleared. Smoke damage throughout, but structurally sound.”
“That’s good.”
Jake looks up at us. “Thanks for getting them out today. Both of you.”
“That’s the job,” Cole says.
“Still. Thank you. I think now’s the right time to announce that I’m going to turn down the research program.”
Everyone goes quiet.
